Worlds Collide
by KuraiKitty
Summary: Elibe and Magvel: two worlds, one shared destiny. Can past, present, and future unite with an army of strangers to combat a combined darkness? Rated T for violence and language. Fire Emblem 1, 4, 6, 7, 8, and 9 are included. Chapter 10 up.
1. Prologue

Prologue: Winds of the Past

((Author's note: For this chapter and here on out, I don't own Fire Emblem. Secondly, this prologue is only to inform you where in the game the characters are when this story takes place. It's dull, but it helps. The next chapter is much, much longer… just don't always expect them to be that long. Review the first chapter, not this lame (albeit necessary) prologue. x.x This story compiles three games together; Fuuin no Tsurugi, Rekka no Ken, and Seima no Kouseki. Enjoy, and review!))

The continent of Elibe is a majestic land, with the expanse of the continent littered with peaks that reached into the sky, plains that expanded farther than the eye could see, small kingdoms that dwarved the villages they ruled, and small islands, littered about the sea. The Lycian League is a but a portion of the land, but nonetheless was the home of several small kingdoms that shared a peace forged in grudgingly held promises, leaders fearful of foreign invasions, and, in Ostia and Pherae's case, honor and pride in their lands. Bern's wyvern riders seem to have been taking action, preparing for an impending war, all while Sacae and Ilia had vowed to defend their lands against the dragon riders that strayed so dangerously close to invading their borders, like leopards awaiting the perfect moment to strike at unsuspecting prey. And yet, in the end, both great lands were felled beneath the iron grip of the man known to all of Elibe as King Zephiel.

The month was currently that of the Archer, in the eighteenth year since Caelin's abdication of its lands to Ostia. The former to-be marquess of Caelin, the noble lady Lyndis, had passed away but ten years ago; a few years after her grandfather's untimely death. She and her husband, Rath, had lived in the vast plains of Sacae, raising their daughter Sue with loving care. Their little girl thrived in the nomadic atmosphere, much like her mother had before her, and quickly became accustomed to using the bow and eventually going on hunts with them once she reached the age of six. However, a tribal skirmish between the Djote tribe and the Kutolah left the former lady of Caelin incapacitated, as an arrow had struck her where her neck met her shoulders. The wound quickly bled out, and she died, suffering from her fatal arrow. Sue's father, Rath, had also fallen, but that was from Bern's wyvern riders and not from a traitorous tribe. Left alone and without parental guidance at the age of fourteen, she was left with her fellow tribesman, Sin, to protect her as she ventured across the land. Now sixteen years of age, she had already met the firey-haired lord of Pherae, as well as his friend, the mage and Lady of Ostia.

Roy, son of Marquess Eliwood of Pherae, was a young man at this point. At sixteen, he had already lost his mother… however, her death was far more peaceful than Lady Lyndis's. His mother, oddly enough, had died from old age… even though she appeared to be no older than perhaps thirty years old. Though Eliwood remembered what Nils had told his sister before he left through Dragon's Gate for the last time - that she would only live for perhaps fifteen years, given her incredible lack of strength and quintessence while in Elibe - he still had a very hard time with grasping his dragon wife's death. It was true that her weak quintessence had held out longer than even her brother had expected, but he still could not forget the weak smile that had taken the last of her strength before she had breathed her last. Roy did not truly understand why she had died so soon, or why her strength had degenerated so much over the past decade and a half. Rather, he made do with standing vigil by his father, who still ailed from a sickness unknown. Some guess that he carried the same sickness that had ailed and felled the late Lord Uther, while others claim it to be the same type of poison that had been administered to the former Marquess Caelin.

The young girl who had recently come to power in Ostia still mourned for her father, Lord Hector, who had been rescued by Roy… only to die in his arms. Lilina had not had a chance to move on, and used the grief and fury in her heart to swear vengeance on him… it was she, more than anyone else, who wished for Zephiel to fall by Lycian hands. Her mother had been away at the time, returning north to Ilia to donate more funds to their treasury. However, having seen the crimson-stained snow of the mountains and witnessing the carnage of the wyverns who had slain her people and fellow Pegasus Knights, she had abandoned all former shyness and returned to battle, Killer Lance raised. Dame Florina never returned, having taken almost an entire brigade of wyvern riders with her before falling into the snow, pierced through by a wyvern lord's lance. Her pegasus, however, had returned to Ostia, carrying the note Florina had attached to its neck before sending it off back to her home. It was only then that Castle Ostia learned of their lady's death, and heard of the thirty year old pegasus knight falling in combat while defending her country of birth.

A myrmidon who had lived in the eastern reaches of Sacae, however, still kept her parents. Both Bartre and Karla still lived, sparring one another at random intervals while keeping their daughter as honed-in on combat as they were. The young girl adopted the style of her mother, leaving her father to constantly mumble 'what if's' about what would have happened if she had decided to swing an axe. Becoming their equal at the age of fifteen, she still could never convince her uncle, who was once feared as the Sword Demon, to fight with her… for he, Karel, was now the Saint of Swords; and thus, he had sworn never to kill with his blade again, let alone lift his weapon against his kin.

One set of twins had been separated for a while, only to be reunited in Roy's army: Lugh and Rei, sons of the prestiged and infamous Angel of Death and his young wife, the magician Nino, had been left in the care of a bishop named Lucius during a young age. Lugh and Rei had been left alone since then, as their father had run off to lead those who were after his head away from his wife and twin sons… and, caring for nothing more than her husband's safety, their mother entrusted their sons to an old friend while she scoured the lands for the skilled and infamous assassin. They never returned, even though some say they have never reunited, either. They had stayed with Chad while they were still in the orphanage… it seemed that only Lucius recognized the boy and his sandy-blonde hair as the bastard child of the charismatic Ostian thief, who had never truly recovered from the death of his true love. His heart had been forever cleaved, with his child now being the only evidence of his existence.

Various accounts of children and their parents linked them together, but all remained the same… generations that had belonged to Hector's Horde, past and present, old and new, dead or alive, pledged their hearts to the Lycian League, and vowed to remain astride the late Marquess's ideals through the ages, and for all time.

The land of Magvel, home of the five stones of power, once took pride in their unity as a nation; five countries, nestled within one giant continent that still retained a network of peace and tranquility between them. Renais, Grado, Rausten, Frelia, Jehanna, and Carcino; lands lead in different forms of government, culture, and combat all managed to share one common goal- the protection of the Sacred Stones, which had lain dormant in this land for centuries. And yet, by one single successful spell led the continent into a perpetual cyclone of chaos, leaving many nations wondering what and why had sparked the sudden change of course and demeanor of the Grado Empire.

The formerly peaceful king had passed on, leaving the frail and soft-spoken Lyon to rule in his place. Unfortunately, the prince had neither the nerve nor the strength of mind to control such a vast system on his own, and thus began the conjuring of the spell that would change the face of Magvel forever… the spell that revived his king, his father, and allowed the Demon King that resided in the Sacred Stone of Grado. It was then that the hostile spirit that was the incarnation of the evil spirit began the harsh takeover of his body… the frail necromancer's form quickly became the host of the demon that had once terrorized the nations of Magvel, and sought to lay waste to the stones that kept his power in check.

It also seemed that more spell casting was going on behind the scenes than many others barely noticed, despite the plume of dark clouds that had spread over the skies of Grado…

Though the twins of Renais have discovered the culprits and have figured out the majority of the mystery that surrounds their childhood friend's recent actions, they have yet to keep the destruction of the stones from occurring. As such, two have been vanquished, while they seek to save the others. Ephraim has gone off in search of a hero that had plotted and executed the efficient murder of Jehanna's queen, while Eirika, Ephraim's twin sister, has gone off to destroy the wyvern knight that had inflicted such a grave scar on her knight, the loyal Silver Lance, Seth.

Even though they knew of the Demon King's scheme, they could do nothing to stop it until the safety of the remaining stones was confirmed. Thus, they barely even knew the whole of Lyon's newly acquired power… or the motives evil inside of him that continued to experiment with spells of the past, written in the same book that had the spell for his own resurrection.

Parting ways, neither of the twins have any idea of what fate has had in store for them… and the rest of the planet.


	2. Chapter 1

Ch. 1: New Beginnings

(Author's Note: Hope you don't mind the odd pairing first featured here. Creepy to read, creepier to write. x.x It's quite plot-essential, though, so don't mind it. And look, I _know _that the time portrayal of Fuuin no Tsurugi is off, and that some of the characters are not actually present during the event I'm going to describe. I know the inaccuracies. I've played the game. I'm well aware of this. Now, without further ado….)

"No… no… get away from me…" The princess of Renais's frightened but demanding voice echoed through the small stone fortress that stood amidst the endless ocean of sand, backing slowly away from the mythical Moonstone of Grado… also known as Valter, one of the strongest and most feared riders of the Grado skies. A fearsome Wyvern Knight, Valter was renowned from countries around as one of Grado's most barbaric generals… a man with an appetite for blood that was seemingly insatiable, combined with a demeanor that could only be described as borderline insanity. He was no fool, however… he had wanted to acquire his 'ripe little peach', and his quick thinking and effective tactics had led to this new scenario; him, standing before the shaking princess that was his prime target. He could sense the fear, coursing off of her like a river as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead from both the heat of the desert as well as the heat of his gaze.

She was helpless; helpless to stop the country that had already destroyed two of the continent's Stones, helpless to defend her army… and, most of all, she was helpless to defend herself. In her mind, only one thought rang true as he approached her…

_If only he was here… if only… Lord Brother, where are you?_

In Valter's eyes, it had been all too easy… the Pegasus knights that had accompanied Eirika's brigade were focused mainly on the shamans that had been placed near the entrance of the desert, and the blinding sandstorms had left little to no visibility for the rest of the army. The two cavaliers, Kyle and Forde, had a hard time trying to maneuver their horses through the burning winds and sand, while Innes had also stayed behind with Colm and Neimi to attack the Wyvern Knights that had so brutally assaulted their northern ranks. They had been occupied for quite some time, considering the thick hides of the winged dragons and their skilled riders. The shamans were fierce, as well, ruthlessly casting spell upon spell towards the pegasi that danced gracefully through the skies. Though the said winged horses of myth were less susceptible to magic than most other members of their army, they were still nevertheless taking small burns from the dark magic. Over time, these became lesions and burns that spread over their delicate hides, leaving them with debilitating injuries and unsightly scars that would remain for the remainder of their lives.

Numbers were on the Moonstone's side in this fight, and he knew it; and he was more than going to take advantage of the lordling's lack of knowledge concerning the number and placement of his troops.

The only thing that had truly stood in his way was that accursed Paladin, Seth of Renais. The Silver Lance was not a man to be trifled with, considering he had been the only man that had taken a hit from Valter's spear… and lived with only a scar and pain. Everyone else had died almost instantly from the Wyvern Knight's fearsome strength and skill, and yet the knight lived on. It was this thorn that was hardest to remove from his side… and yet, all it took was one Ranger to turn the tables on the famed knight of Renais. Once they had hit the border between the sandstorms and the stable ground that horses could freely trod upon, a mounted bowman had swept through, snatching the princess from before Seth before he even emerged from the veil of sand. Once he had discovered that she had been captured, it was a simple matter of threatening her with death that had pacified the paladin's killing urges. A nicely positioned Fighter was all the enemy forces had needed to bludgeon the famous knight in the back of his scarlet head, rendering the man unconscious… his attention was too focused on the safety of his Princess.

It was a costly mistake, with Grado's forces now holding Renais's female twin under their control. As if to mock him, his unconscious form was thrown by Grado's armies just outside of the area, where the sand had begun… if he wanted to find his princess, however long it took him to regain consciousness, he would have to fight his way once more through the endless seas of sand before finding what they planned to be the corpse of the princess, hanging from a lance. It all depended on what Valter wanted… and whether or not he wished the girl dead. It was ironic, in a way, that they were thus able to use Seth's unconsciousness to hold Eirika's actions under control. Her previously wild thrashes to get away from her captors subsided, and all she could do was to look back with longing; even tears were denied her as the salty drops were instantly seared from the corners of her eyes by the bitter desert winds.

Now, taking her inside Valter's fort, her fate was in the general's hands. Smiling, his gaunt face frightened her even more so than his lance had when he had brandished it before her. Her iron sword was of no use against the mighty weapon, and had been deflected with ease by the larger staff. She had struck at him with an overhead blow, making him block her attack halfheartedly before, with a sharp twist of his spear, her only weapon flew from her hands. Now, she was completely defenseless, leaving her to back away from the mad knight while searching desperately for a weapon. And now, she was left to back away from his slow but steady approach, letting a sharp gasp escape her lips as she felt her back hit the surprisingly cold, ungiving stone wall. His strides were longer than hers, and he approached her much more quickly than his slow pace had let on.

"There's nowhere to run, my peach. Nowhere to hide, no one to save you… do you know that I am disobeying my orders by keeping you alive right now, my pure little blossom?" Sneering at her while watching her eyes widen in fear, he moved in, letting his spear drop to the ground as he rushed forward, grasping her wrists with his hands. His grip was almost bone crushing, and left her biting back the urge to screech in pain as he forcefully lifted them over her head. She wouldn't give him the pleasure of knowing he hurt her, and couldn't let him know how afraid she was of him. However, her body language all but told him the pain he was causing her, and he reveled in the feeling of utmost control as he grasped her both of her raised wrists in his left hand, leaving his right hand free to stroke down her jawline, starting at her cheek. Unwittingly, she flinched from the contact. She would rather have spit in disgust, but the shock at feeling his gloved hand running down her face was simply too much for her to think of defying him for a moment.

A moment was all he needed. Pulling her chin forward, it was all a matter of moving his own face forward before crushing her lips with his. She didn't hide the shrill squeak of surprise that rose from her throat this time, and even let the tone of disgust clearly leak through in her outburst. Whatever curses she wished to say were muffled and rendered inaudible by his lips, and her attempts at speaking were only an invitation for him to plunder her mouth with his tongue. She wanted to gag on the bitter taste that his mouth carried, and could not even bite his invading tongue, for he kept a firm grip on her jaw that prevented her from doing so. She gasped at the feeling of his teeth as they bit down sharply on her lower lip, opening a small cut… from that miniscule injury, he mockingly licked away the tiny ruby drops that had gathered at the surface before licking his lips. Once he had released her mouth from his in favor of respiration, she screamed in disgust, trying in vain to throw her head to the side. She didn't want to see the… _thing_… that had dared defiled her in such a way. What scared her was that she thought… no, knew… that this was not all that he could do to her.

"I was supposed to slay you… and feel the Renais princess's blood running down my hands; the same way I felt the blood of your knight. But… to ruin such a beauty…" He murmured, letting his lips glide across hers again. She turned her head to the side, but only after the first two seconds of initial contact. It was as if her actions were delayed, or in slow motion… only then, after gathering her bearings a bit, did she speak, loathing the way he now let his hand move gently across the smooth skin of her cheek. He didn't tell her that he positively endeared her struggles, since they were so futile, and refused to tell her how beautiful she looked, masked in fear while her hair so brightly contrasted the flush of red that covered her face from the heat and lack of oxygen. Valter didn't even bother to move, even though he knew that his wavy hair was probably aggravating the skin that covered her delicate neck.

"You… monster…" She gasped, for she too had not had an opportunity to breathe when he had kissed her. Though she would have liked to have added a nice string of curses to her two words, her lungs would scarcely allow her to breathe, let alone speak. It was as if that one act had sapped all the energy from her body, for even her legs had not the energy to lash out to take advantage of what looked like the only moment of vulnerability that this barbarian had shown thus far. The moment of susceptibility came, but quickly passed as the small, lustful grin returned to his face.

"I wonder… what your brother would think of this; a general of the Grado army, degrading the body of his twin… leaving her completely unsuitable for marriage. The barbarian of Grado, removing the very part of the lotus that makes it holy… yes, you are my little cherry, finally ready to be picked... I have many plans for you, my flawless flower…" He smiled, purring these words into her ear as he nibbled on her earlobe before kissing her neck, making a shiver course through her body… whether it was a physical response to his closeness or to his words, she could not tell. All she knew was that her life… her body… and her future were all at risk. She could feel Valter's free hand moving to run up and down her body as he pleased, and, with her hands held tightly above her head and her back against the wall, she could do nothing but squirm futilely in an attempt to escape his advances. All this seemed to do was encourage the defilation of her body, and she was forced again into another kiss, with the wyvern knight massaging his lips against hers as she felt his hand struggling to remove one of the clasps that held her armor in place. She could smell his sweat, feel his armor as it pressed uncomfortably against her thin body, and could feel her mind and flesh almost go numb… as if her own body was in denial of the current events.

She did not want to see his shameless attentions to her, and did not want to believe that it was truly her that was now at Valter's mercy. Tears leaked from her eyes as she squeezed them shut, praying to the heavens for redemption.

_Please, oh please… if there truly are gods above, let them save me from this fate! Save me from this… monster! He destroyed my home… do not let him destroy me!_

Almost as if the gods heard her plea, the entire planet was engulfed in a sharp quake, leaving both her and her captor on the floor as they struggled to make sense of what had just happened… and what kept happening. For reasons that they could not understand, virtually everyone who inhabited Magvel saw a black dot in the sky continue to grow larger and larger as their wayward world began to drift towards the sphere in space known as Elibe. And, even though they couldn't see what was happening in the sky from their vantage point, both Eirika and Valter knew that this… petty dispute of theirs… could wait until later.

----------------

Meanwhile, midday in the stone fortress that was known to the world as the home of Marquess Pherae, a small army had gathered within the walls of the castle. Strangely enough, the said army that had been led by Roy was almost completely silent… save for their leader. The atmosphere was heavy with tension and despair… so much so, some of the members had to leave the castle, for fear that they might buckle emotionally from the overpowering negative energies. In the Marquess's room, there stood several people… the Marquess himself, who lay on his large bed, his son, who stood vigil by his bedside, Lilina, who had stayed a bit farther off from the pair, and a small group of others, standing just outside the door.

A small mamkute, the pink haired Fa, tried her hardest to figure out why the air felt so odd, but could not come up with an answer. When she tried to ask her friend Sue, however, she was quieted with a shake of her head. The little dragon knew from experience not to pry when she did this, but what could she do? Pouting from indecision, she decided to listen to Sue and keep quiet. She knew nothing of death, and only a little of sickness, so it was natural for this scenario not to make any sense to her. How could she understand what she had never seen before?

One in the room wished he never knew… never known pain, never known sorrow, and wished he had never seen death. But he had… and that amplified the pain that he felt, watching his father on his deathbed. He wished, deep inside, that he could be oblivious to the pain, to ignore it as if it never existed… that way, his heart would not be torn apart as it did now. He felt his spirit beginning to break, for his father was his lighthouse, showing him the way through his trials and tribulations throughout the years. Now, if he were to be without his beacon, he would be left in his own world of darkness. If only he could turn back time, if only he could have been at home, helping his father through the illness…

_If only, if only, if only. _The words rang cruelly through his mind, leaving him to shake off his thoughts, turning his attention to the one who really mattered.

"Father! Please, answer me." A redheaded boy begged his ill father, shaking him gently as he still lay on his bed. Lord Eliwood scarcely had the strength to open his eyes anymore, let alone speak in coherent sentences to his caring son. The kindhearted Marquess did not want to do this to his son… it was almost like witnessing his own father, the late Lord Elbert, breathing his last and dying in his arms after his quintessence had been drained by Nergal. He had been crushed, unable to move on for some time until love had taken grief's place in his heart. However… he did not want his son to go through the same pain, the same heartfelt burden, that he had experienced himself in the past.

"...R…Roy." Marquess Pherae's brow furrowed as he hissed from a pain that struck his lungs when he tried to speak, leaving him to speak only that one word to his son. He regretted not telling the boy why his mother had died so early on, and more than that, regretted not telling Roy his mother's true race. He was just like Fa, a naive little Mamkute, sent off to live in the hostile world of men. And yet, he had people that accepted him… a sign that perhaps Arcadia's vision was not too farfetched, after all. His thoughts were immediately halted when a barrage of savage coughs wracked his body, leaving his mind in a red haze of pain as he felt the blood speckle against the palm he had used to block the spread of his disease.

"Lord Eliwood!" Lilina shrieked, looking mortified by the sight of her friend's father's faltering condition. She had not seen her father when he died, and yet here Roy was, about to see the death of his father, when he had already witnessed the departure of hers. Her father died in combat, while his fought a losing war against disease… an unfit end, for a former warrior that fought for the safety of Elibe. The world was cruel, she knew… she would have preferred to hear of Lord Eliwood's sickness, rather than having to see the sorrowful sight herself.

Disheartened, Lilina caught a slight movement from the corner of her eye as both Sin and Sue bowed their heads in mournful respect, with the girl leading out the young mamkute who had never before seen the prospect of death. She was too young to learn now… to be disheartened so…if she even understood it. Klein's eyes were lowered grievously, and for once Clarine was absolutely silent. Their parents had fought alongside Lord Eliwood in the past… the Mage General and the Lady of Violets had indeed been close friends and valuable allies with him since that horrible Second Scouring. Now, it was as if they were seeing the death of their own parents… what with how much they knew the kindhearted lord over the years.

"Father, you can't die! Don't leave me… like mother did." Having lost his composure by now, Roy now let the tears of his fury and sorrow drift uninhibited down his face, even as he buried his face in his father's chest. He took his father's weak form into his arms, allowing himself to at least embrace his father one last time. His mother had left them so suddenly… and here, his father was suffering the same symptoms his mother had, just before she died.

"…" With one last sigh escaping his lips as Roy clutched his hand, Lord Eliwood breathed his last. Laying his father back on the bed, honor did not stop him from crying out, weeping bitterly before his father's corpse. Still holding his hand and pressing his forehead against the back of it as he cried, he clenched his eyes sharply shut in a futile attempt to block out the outside world that had been so cruel to his father's life. Only a sharp gasp from Lilina and a strange darkness that covered the room in a veil knocked him from his daze.

It was midday, and yet something blocked out the sun… the moon was not the cause of it, as was evident by the moon, straying right beside the large shadow that had interfered with the sun's warm rays. Whatever it was, it was truly gargantuan… and, Roy noticed after wiping his eyes dry…

It was quickly getting larger… or closer. Looking down at his father, he smiled for a moment before, moving his hands up to his head, he removed the circlet of Pherae that he always wore, placing it atop his father's body.

_If what I think is happening actually is… then I will be with you soon, father. Very soon._

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Driven by forces unknown, Magvel continued its plummet towards Elibe, barreling at blinding speeds towards the other planet while occupants of its own were experiencing violent earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and untold amounts of panic and despair. Elibe, however, remained stationary, as if awaiting its collision with Magvel. As the worlds began to brush with one another, Elibe's oceans seemed to seethe and boil beneath the friction that the invading atmosphere caused, and the entire world seemed ready to combust beneath the heat and sheer force of the contact…

And yet, something odd occurred… a soothing curtain of blue light instantly covered Elibe's countries, protecting them as Magvel continued barreling into the sea. The world was not much smaller than Elibe, but still managed to completely disintegrate the core of the planet. Though tsunamis, tornadoes, earthquakes, and eruptions rattled Elibe, the mysterious force rendered them almost invulnerable from the damage of nature. Displacing the very foundations of Elibe, Magvel came to almost a screeching halt, forging a new core for the world while facing its continents side by side with the continent of the other world.

The green light that had surrounded Magvel's countries then dissipated… but the blue light that had covered Elibe did not. Gathering all together in one spot above Bern, a shining blue beacon stood there for but a moment before promptly exploding, showering the world in another surge of light. Forging its way into the ground, into castles, and into the sky, the strange energies had accomplished what no mortal thought possible…

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Deep within the unending plains of Sacae, a small child was running through the sea of grass, stopping only to read a small marker that broke apart the monotony of the plains… the marble headstone read, "Here lies the Lady Lyndis; the Kindhearted Soul of Caelin and Free Spirit of Sacae". Staring at it for a moment, the child showed no regard, committing the taboo crime of stepping upon the headstone before turning to run away. To do so was a desecration of the grave, and her elders had taught the child that a spirit would take vengeance on such a foolish soul; however, she never listened. However, something stopped the child in her tracks… more precisely, a hand clasped around her ankle that had emerged from the earth.

The woman, for the first time since her death, actually _felt _something Yes, she could feel something… a warmth, and a flash of light, awakening her senses as she felt something once again building up around her. Flesh returned to her, the same muscles and flawless skin she had taken for granted in the past returned in full gusto as she realized for the first time that she could not breathe, nor could she see. Realizing she was underground for reasons she could not understand, she began her trip upward, tearing at the soil in an attempt to reach the surface. Grabbing the first thing she felt… the child's leg… Lyn used this to pull herself up, even as the flesh that covered her fingers returned. Frozen in terror, the girl could only stare as a beautiful woman who could be no older than eighteen, rising from the grave of a thirty year old woman. The clothes she had been buried in were still donned upon her body, which scared the child even more.

Not many people wore burial garb unless they were dead, after all. Letting out a shriek of absolute terror, the poor little girl tore away from Lyn's grasp, almost making her fall back into the hole she had used to get out of the earth. As Lyn reached her hand out, about to tell the girl to stop and to please help her out, she paused. She had never worn such ornamental gloves in her life, and they had on them black material… the color of death. Looking down, she could not understand why she was clothed in black, nor could she remember where she had been, just before she had found herself in the earth. Furrowing her brow and remembering her daughter, she wondered vaguely if it had been another one of Sue's pranks… though this went far into the ranges of tribal expulsion for the desecration of the grave rituals. Looking beside her, she was shocked to find her husband, doing the exact thing she had and pulling himself from the earth.

If it was Sue's doing, it was going to take all the might of Father Sky and Mother Earth to prevent Lyndis from strangling her. Rath, turning to look at her, promptly fell back into his grave with a cry of utmost shock. Lyn, looking inquisitively at him, wondered why he suddenly looked so much younger… as if they had returned to the days of the Second Scouring. Perhaps the earth was better for her skin than most people made it out to be, she noted, looking down at her trimmer figure.

Rath, however, was not so laid back. He knew his wife was dead, and yet there she was, sitting before him in burial garb while still eighteen. She hadn't so much as batted a lash in awkwardness towards her counterpart, nor did she hint about the spirits sending her back to deliver some sort of message. No, there was definitely something wrong with him. Hoisting himself up again, he looked upon her with wide eyes, reaching out hesitantly to touch her as if it was his first time again… he wanted to know if it was a hallucination, or if she really was there before him. And if she was… why?

Lyn giggled at his odd expression, but inwardly wondered why he looked so shocked. Their daughter was a trickster at times, her being six and all. Even though she could not tell why her husband looked so much younger than she remembered… not that she minded… she could not explain why he so inquisitively touched her cheek, nor could she figure out why he was so overjoyed that he had done so. She was quickly taken into his embrace, and she could not figure out why tears of joy were running down his cheeks. Worried now, she decided to ask…

"Rath? What's wrong? Where's Sue? It's her seventh birthday tomorrow, isn't it?" She asked, looking down at him as he visibly flinched, moving back from her. He couldn't believe she was doing this to him… returning to a younger age, yet still remembering his daughter… was she such a woman, that she only remembered up until the day she died?

"Lyn… you… why are you here?" He asked, looking downward for a small while. He truly wondered whether or not she was a nymph in disguise or not, considering the woman's insistence on hurting his every hope as time went on. If it truly was her… how would he tell her? Tell her of her death, her daughter's older age…

"What are you talking about?" She asked. Rath looked up at her, meeting her eyes, and held her hands in preparation for what he was to tell her…

"… you don't remember, do you…"

"What is it? What don't I remember? Answer me, Rath!" By this time, she knew something was amiss…. A hunch proven correct as he held her close, whispering the dreaded words into her ear…

"Lyn… you died… four years ago."

((End of chapter 1. What do you think? Read and Review! ))


	3. Chapter 2

((…All right, so this chapter is about the same length, if not longer, than the last. So sue me. x.x))

Ch. 2: New Realms

Even as the new, fused world was still growing accustomed to its new form, the entire continent of Elibe seemed to have its foundations ripped out as similar events to Lyn's occurred throughout the land. Those slain during and after the Second Scouring returned to life… but, curiously, it seemed only to work if they had slain another during that time. Villages that had been ravaged remained completely silent, while the gravesites of Bern were filled with the bodies of reviving soldiers. Strangely enough, similar things began to occur with an odd twist when the strange light touched those that were still alive from that time period…

"Lord Pent? Lord Pent, where are you?" The Lady of Violets, eighteen years older since she had last taken up her bow in combat, made her way around Castle Reglay, wondering where on Elibe he could possibly be after such a quick… but nonetheless cataclysmic… event. Realizing that he would probably be in one of two places, she set off in search of the first. Moving off towards the library, which she swore was his true home within the castle, she began searching around the monumental bookshelves that lined the walls and divided the large room into a seemingly endless labyrinth. The limitless places to look within this cataclysmic cyclone of books, which had been thrown out of their orderly shelves during the contact, made it all the harder to know whether or not her husband truly was buried with his books.

It wasn't that Louise didn't appreciate good literature… it was just that her husband was simply so obsessed with the acquisition of new knowledge, that was all. He promised he would stop all his terribly irksome habits as soon as they had come back from that cataclysmic fight that had occurred almost twenty years ago against the serpentine behemoth, and for a time, he kept that promise. After half a decade or so, however, rumors of Bern surfaced… and with it, old habits returned with a vengeance. Rather than staying for days in his study without so much as a peep or a bite to eat, he now waited for weeks, almost killing himself from a genuine starvation and almost lethal amounts of dehydration before emerging from his study to speak to his wife. She was just about ready to make him write his will, if he kept all this nonsense up. Closing the large, ornate doors that were both the entrance and exit to the library, she made perfectly sure that, if her sage husband was indeed in the vicinity, he would not leave without her full knowledge.

All such thoughts went away, replaced with genuine concern as she coursed through the library. It certainly did not help that the said area was two stories tall, with stairs leading up to the eastern and western wings of the castle. Nevertheless, she continued on, stopping only when she felt the wave of azure light strike her body. Gasping as the sheer amount of energy tore at her thin form, she was thrown back from the raw force of the blow. It was odd, the way the light seemed almost solid, but passed through a person as if the said column of flesh did not exist. As soon as it had arrived, it was gone, leaving the blonde woman to catch her breath. It wasn't easy, being thrown on the floor with such force at the age of forty-seven. Though other cultures did not see such an age as especially old, combat for a few years in youth can wear out both body and mind as if it had aged decades.

Sitting up, the arthritis that had slightly ailed her back surprisingly did not scream at her as it usually did. Confused at this, she nevertheless smiled, letting her hand move around to rest on her back. Perhaps falling on a tile floor wasn't so bad after all, if it could stave the pains of arthritis. Stretching, she noted that, oddly enough, she was far more flexible than she had felt in years. Reveling in this feeling of youth, she wondered truly if the floor had some kind of rune imbedded in it, to give it such rejuvenating powers upon impact… She would need to consult her husband on this one. Perhaps it was a belated birthday gift…? If so, she hoped for more like it in the future.

Content after a while that her husband was not in the area while taking full advantage over her newfound energy and vigor (she had stayed at her desk doing too long while doing far too much paperwork, or so she was firmly convinced at this point), she was a bit disappointed that he had not been present before, shrugging her shoulders, she opened the large library doors once again, moving past her maids and servants with a smile on her face, ready to track down her husband once more.

Beaming like the Cheshire cat, she wondered vaguely why her servants and maids had promptly dropped everything they held… including their jaws. Did she look that much better… or was there some horrendous bruise that had marred her face during the fall, even though she could have sworn that she had fallen on her back? Upon hearing comments such as, "Is that truly milady..? She looks… different, does she not?", and others like, "Wow. What happened to milady?", she was not quite as ecstatic as she was a few seconds earlier. Rushing past them, she strove to find her husband. If she looked as odd as she sounded, she needed the honesty of a spouse to tell her… at least until she could get to a mirror. Thankfully, she knew that the second place where she could find her elusive husband also held a crystalline mirror in it.

Rushing to get to the northern Observatory Tower more out of curiosity and fear than concern for her husband, she called out his name, hearing his voice softly answering in return. Overjoyed that her elusive mate had been found at last, she rushed up the spiral stone staircase that lead up to the watchtower, feeling invigorated by both that interesting fall and the sound of Lord Pent's voice. Strangely enough, his voice sounded confused, concerned, and younger… all at the same time. Pausing, she ran that last thought through her mind again.

_Younger? Why by Elimine did I think that?_ Shrugging it off as her hearing gone funny over the years, she rushed all the more, relieved when she hit the top of the staircase. Smiling and adjusting her ruby dress while at the mahogany door leading into the actual observatory, she opened the door. Seeing only the back of her husband's head as he seemingly ogled the mirror, she wondered if the blast had hurt his head so much that he would become a narcissist. The very thought made her giggle… and that made her husband turn around. The moment he had done so, they both immediately noticed that something was quite amiss.

"Louise!"

"Lord… Pent!" Husband and wife stared at one another, horrified, confused, and yet exhilarated simultaneously as they gazed at each other's faces. Their small but still noticeable fine lines had all disappeared, the silver hairs that had marred the monotony of Louise's golden locks had evaporated, and her body appeared as if she had never borne a child in her life. Neither of them could quite grasp what had happened, and their shocked faces showed it quite clearly. An awkward silence filled the room before Louise, tired of wondering if she now looked as young as her husband, ran to the glass that hung on the wall.

"Are we… young!" Louise shrieked upon seeing herself in the mirror. Though grateful, yes, she was still confused… Why did they look like they had when they had fought alongside what was now the late Marquess Pherae? Why had her figure returned…? Upon that last thought, however, she decided to count her blessings. Not many women got to have their bodies back once childbirth took it away, after all.

"Yes… yes, we are." Still confused and bewildered, Pent could only murmur about the light, the earthquakes that had failed to fell a single house, the tsunamis that had washed harmlessly over the heads of civilians, and the fires that seemed to rage only where life was not present.

"We… We should speak to the others about this, shouldn't we…? And the children, as well…" Louise murmured, met only with a nod from Pent. This was quite the trivial matter… What had made them young? Considering the fact that Pent was here, the 'bewitched tile' theory that she had had was now thrown out the window…

A pity, in her opinion; it would have made a wonderful birthday gift.

----------

"Urgh…" Seth muttered, his eyes fluttering open but for a second before the bright sun forced them shut. Groaning slightly from a dull, burning pain that seemed to be radiating from the back of his skull, he gingerly reached back to touch it with one of his gloved hands, only to hiss in pain as the contact was met with a new barrage of raw pain. Attempting to sit up, he gave up after a few tries, making content with groaning beneath the searing sun while shielding his eyes from the burning rays. They had Eirika, his liege… he had failed in his ultimate mission. He was not to destroy the Demon King, rid the world of the dark plague that had descended upon it… no, he was to protect the Princess of Renais.

The King had entrusted the frail, porcelain doll that was his daughter's life into the Silver Knight's hands, and he had failed to hold on to it when she needed to be protected the most. Now she was in enemy hands, as if a hammer now loomed over that metaphorical doll; taunting him, always ready to lower the crushing force to end the girl's life. And he, like an overconfident fool, had allowed her to run ahead, seemingly humoring her and her claims for being able to take care of herself while being perfectly sure that he could run to her rescue in case enemies were to strike. One moment of distraction, one arrow that was aimed at an off angle; that was all it took to scare his loyal stallion. Rearing up and neighing sharply even as Seth had struggled to control him, it paid no heed even as the princess he had been following since the beginning of this journey was snatched up cruelly by a mercenary.

He knew the memory would haunt him forever… and the pain would be a constant reminder until the large, raw flesh that had been bludgeoned would be a constant reminder of that until the injury healed. At this point, he didn't even want that to happen, knowing that his princess could be going through ten times as much agony right now… if she was still alive.

_I'd sooner prefer to see the Knights of Renais dead than to let her suffer for my transgressions! _Cursing under his breath, he tried once more to sit up, only to see a gloved hand quite literally fall into his line of vision from above. Recognizing the crest on the glove as a Renais soldier, his eyes widened horrendously before, falling back and yelling from surprise, he looked up, only to see a familiar face sneering at him from above. It appeared that fate wished to make a fool of him yet again.

"Calm yourself, Sir Seth! Why, I could have sworn you'd seen a corpse, what with your reaction." Laughing merrily and yet offering his hand towards his captain, Forde allowed himself to smirk and ridicule him for a moment before, letting that moment pass, he pulled Seth up. The older knight groaned from the blood rushing to the wound on his head, and felt a trickle of blood run down his scalp as he looked at his still-sneering blonde friend. Staring blankly up for a moment at the man who had so incredulously ridiculed him, he decided to let it pass; he was in no mood to rebuke others, anyway. Stunned by this odd show of behavior, Forde arched and inquisitive eyebrow; noticing that Seth did not even bother telling him to stand up straight when he slouched, what was he supposed to think, given the circumstances of his finding? Something was terribly amiss, and he was determined to see to it just what this problem was.

"Forde. The princess… Princess Eirika has been…"

"Yeah… we know." Forde looked down, still smiling oddly; this left Seth to fume angrily at Forde's easygoing nature. Forde too had been assigned the task of protecting the royal twins, and yet he smiled, knowing that senile fool of a wyvern rider… or knight, rather… had the girl now in his cruel claws? Did he not know that Valter adored the chase, and loved to hunt his prey down to torture them to their last breath, no matter how long it took or how far he had to travel? He reveled in the pain of his victims, and here his underling was, seemingly unphased by the man's cruel reputation and his princess's disappearance. It was enough to have the blonde tried for treason.

"You… know. And yet, here you stand." Standing up and leering down at the blonde knight, Seth glared at Forde, letting his scarlet eyes do the rest of the talking for him as his caustic gaze bored mercilessly into the cavalier's gold orbs. Event though he had flinched a bit at first, the same smirk that had always been donned on the cavalier's face returned as he gestured towards his friend, Kyle. Letting his smile do as much talking for him as his captain's eyes had, he pointed merrily to the one that his green-haired friend held in his arms.

"Yes, yes indeed. A job well done, don't you think?" Just as he said this, it was Kyle's turn to bludgeon him upside the head. It surely was an ill-timed attempt to try to encourage arguing… and then it donned on him; Forde hadn't even bothered to mention the cataclysmic impact with the other planet to their captain yet! Seth had been unconscious throughout the rather traumatic endeavor, but was quite sure he would notice if a pegasus would lift him perhaps forty feet off the ground. They could even see castles in the distance, albeit small ones; but the sharp eyes of the pink-haired archer that had been lifted had spotted something that had made the poor girl faint. It was all a matter of letting her wake up before asking her what she had seen… so, to pass the time, Forde had decided to play a rather nasty joke on the commander… and he wasn't taking it all too well.

"…At least you have returned her safely. What report do you have to present on her rescue?" Seth sighed, letting the relief plainly show on his face for once. Walking over to the princess, he found she was unconscious in the other knight's arms. Draped with her back against his arms, for it was easier to hold her that way (it also gave Forde a better view while making sure that the dutiful Kyle did not mistakenly grope his liege), her head was leaned back, with her teal strands of hair falling gracefully downwards like a cascade of water, streaming downriver before meeting the waterfall that signaled their descent. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was steady. Seth, making sure she truly was all right, removed his glove before gently pressing two of his fingers beneath the scarlet cloth that covered her before letting them rest against her neck. Her pulse was strong and steady, albeit a bit flighty. This touch, though a sign of concern, had coaxed his inner demons awake. Unable to quite keep them at bay, he could not help but let his eyes drift a bit lower, gazing at the lack of cover that her skirt showed for a moment before quickly tearing his eyes away.

"Ah, so your eyes are attracted too, are they?" Forde teased, sneering momentarily before feeling the slap of a glove as Seth pelted him with said accessory. Shaking off the blush and pretending as if it never happened, he shot the man a look that spelled, _Not a WORD of this gets to milady Eirika, understood!_. However, this only seemed to cheer up Forde a bit more… before, making sure that his friend was not to be brutally murdered at the hands of a fellow Renais knight, Kyle stepped forward, coughing slightly and clearing his throat to get their attention.

"Sir Seth; here is how the situation came to be…"

-Flashback-

Two cavaliers on horseback had been moving ever so slowly through the veil of blinding sands that embellished the rather harsh desert area, struggling to even get their stubborn geldings to budge and inch into the burning, chafing winds and sand. Continuously pushing forward even though the blonde kept looking back every to often for signs of his younger sibling, the man's watchful eye was the first to catch a small glimpse of shelter from the blinding winds. With the sands lashing out and biting savagely at any exposed skin, Kyle and Forde were all too happy to be rid of the desert's harsh sandstorms as they rushed all the more towards their goal. Though Kyle had not caught sight of the upcoming stone fortress as of yet, his friend's smile was still visible, and his newfound determination told the other that they were close to liberation.

Though Forde had yelled out ecstatically towards his fellow knight that he had found a place to hide from the storm until it had subsided, he knew that his voice had all but been stolen away by the greedy, howling gales that made their home in this hostile environment. The scorching sun burned almost as much as the sand, though it itself did not leave the harsh abrasions that the grains had done to their skin. Kyle's neck was virtually bleeding by the time they had arrived at the fort, while Forde's hair had served to protect his, however marginally. Nevertheless, it was far better to have a raw neck and a bothersome head full of sand than to have a neck that would scarcely bend without having the thinning skin break beneath the required elasticity.

They had no knowledge of Eirika's capture, but could tell that something was amiss when they had discovered Seth's unconscious form but twenty minutes ago. Having left him in Innes's care while departing, they had distressfully noted that the princess was indeed nowhere within sight or earshot. Now at the fort, they had all but rushed in, more than willing to slaughter any unsuspecting Grado soldiers if it meant escaping from the desert hell that had been just outside. The first wave came at them in a daze, as if they were surprised that anyone was able to traverse the desert realm so quickly. The normal soldiers had been quickly dispatched with well-aimed lance strikes, while fellow mounted units had proven an exceptional challenge.

Forde, relying more on speed than on power, had his hands full while trying to combat a rogue Ranger that had clearly had a few more years of experience under her belt. When the blonde had struck out with his lance to run the other through on its tip, he found, to his surprise, that the woman had completely evaded his attack by ducking onto her horse, using the saddle for support as she leaned as far down as she could. This allowed the lance to pass harmlessly above her and, as she expected, had rendered the cavalier completely stunned and unprepared. Smiling as the brunette raised her sword, she swung it upward, allowing the blade to slice quickly through the air in an arc… had all gone well, his face would have been torn asunder, leaving a bloody mess and an unrecognizable crimson pulp in place of the charismatic features that he held so dear. Something went amiss, however, as she felt a sharp pain tear through her side… looking up at the source, she felt the lance being sharply tugged from her waist before, in a rush of pain and genuine agony, she failed to see the sword that swung towards her neck.

Seeing her head torn asunder from her shoulders in a mist of scarlet blood, and hearing her eerie shriek echo through the air, the rest of the menial enemy soldiers had frozen in place. Unsure whether or not they could combat the two who had just felled a highly skilled unit, they began to fall back, finally breaking into a run when a mercenary, who had not moved quite fast enough, had been run through the midsection with the same spear that had killed the mighty ranger. Forgetting all vows to Grado and fleeing instead in favor of their lives, Forde and Kyle watched the entire brigade of soldiers leave. Satisfied that their work was done, they were stopped only by the soft, protesting moan that could have only been produced by one thing… a woman.

So, of course, Forde jumped right into the fort, without any pretense as to where it might have lead or who might have dwelled there. Kyle had pulled him back, just before Valter had pulled back from his rather thorough investigation of their liege's lips, to see if she had been worthy of his administrations. Apparently pleased with his work and her discomfort, he soon dove right back in, further exposing her to unwanted attentions as his free hand had drifted up and down her body. She could easily feel the greedy grasp of his hand, making her feel as if she were nothing more than an object to be used as she felt sudden relief; the hand that had unclasped her armor but had not removed it had left her for a minute, only to return with a vengeance. She groaned discontentedly at this, though from far away, the differences between a pleasurable moan and a displeased groan were blurry at best. Her skin had already begun to glisten with sweat, and Valter's outer armor had been removed in favor for his slimmer, albeit less protective inner armor. The said plates of black armor were the same shade as his outer armor, with the only difference being that it did not cover his arms.

Strangely, she could not move… it was as if her back was chained to the wall, and her legs would not lash out. Focusing instead on standing upright, she could not even force her knees to move forward, to at least put a little distance between their bodies. When he moved down to shower attention on her neck with his lips and moist tongue, a shudder ran through her body at his eerie touch. It was predatory, yet tauntingly gentle, as if he wanted to create the illusion of caring while savagely ravaging her innocence, defiling her body while claiming it as his own.

Growling greedily at the girl he held in his arms, he pulled away the armor plating that covered her chest and shoulders, having already unclasped them before. He was not surprised to find that she was still clothed beneath, since her red shirt had lain beneath the plates of thin armor from the beginning. Finding this softer surface much more pleasing than the stiff armor plates that she had on previously, Valter could feel the captive girl squirm a bit beneath his grip for the first time since she had ceased doing so a few minutes ago. Apparently she found this extremely unnerving, preferring the rough kisses to her gradual undress at the general's hands and wishes. Reaching his free hand behind his back, he grasped something before returning to his diligent task of keeping her distracted, so as to not see what he held…

What she could not see but her knights could, however, was that he had pulled a rope from his armor; a rope which had been used to tie his wyvern on a regular basis. Now, he was attempting to use this to ever-so-subtly tie her hands together… and leaving the two cavaliers feeling like cheap voyeurs as they watched helplessly from afar. They could not fight the powerful knight, they knew, since his lance lay so close by… and they still did not yet know whether or not his advances were altogether unwelcome. She had ceased struggling at this point, and this made the sight look as if Valter had been more accepted by the princess. Had she succumbed to his unwanted advances, not have the energy to defy his attentions any more… or had she wanted them all along? Such thoughts ran through the cavaliers' minds as they pulled back momentarily, speaking to each other in hurried whispers while making sure that the wyvern knight was well out of earshot.

"What on earth--!" Forde spat… flustered for once, the flirtatious knight was not quite sure what had occurred in the corridor, and was nonetheless extremely agitated by the tryst they had witnessed.

"Now, Forde, calm down… there must be an explanation for this…"

"Explanation! He's ravaging the princess! Ruining the delicate flower that is her innocence! Defiling the purity known as her body! And, if we don't stop them, he'll invade her--" Losing all composure, said knight flailed his arms about in a manner similar to a fish that had been taken out of the water… only, he didn't even bother gasping for air.

"Stop. Right now." Not wanting that rather disturbing mental image of Eirika and Grado's Moonstone in his mind while also making his friend cease such foolish talk, Kyle held up his hand to silence his fellow knight before attempting to make sense of the scenario. His princess, her hands held above her head and used for pleasure at the hands of the wyvern knight that had destroyed Renais Castle… surely she did not find such a gaunt and bloodthirsty man a possible marriage candidate.

"She can't have accepted this man! He's a brute, taking advantage of a lotus!" Forde almost screamed this out, threatening their cover and forcing them to duck down as Valter's head turned. They were pretty sure they knew the princess… but, then again, no one but her (or perhaps her brother) knew what she liked, anyway. Perhaps she loved being the submissive, and this man simply provided all the dominance that such a relationship required. It was farfetched and highly unlikely, but, then again, so was the scenario they were witnessing unfold before them.

"Look, all we have to do is…" Pausing at the shadow that spread quickly over the land, Kyle was thrown off-balance by a sudden tremor that shook the earth, throwing them off their mounts while rendering everyone on the world unstable. He saw but a flash of green light in the sky over Grado before the worlds struck, leaving them blinded momentarily as they descended onto a new planet. The flash of heat that should have accompanied the impact was absent, staved by the pacifying light that now subsided, leaving everyone on the ground while greeting them with a new sky in a matter of minutes.

Unable to gather his already bundled nerves, Forde was left to stutter incoherently as he was once again caught by surprise. Quickly shaking it off, however, he was not able to remove the trembling that had spread through his hands as he struggled to regain his shattered composure. Clearing his throat as inaudibly as humanly possible, Forde moved discreetly and quietly towards the fort once more. Feeling the familiar texture of stone rather than sand beneath their boots, the blonde followed Kyle's lead into the room. If she wanted to be rescued, now was the time to do so. Realizing that Valter was on the ground, dazed by the sudden quake, the two cavaliers leaped at their chance.

Kicking his lance aside while his partner held the man back with a blade pointed at his throat, the haze of confusion quickly left the wyvern knight's eyes… replaced almost instantaneously by bitterness that rivaled the Demon King's hatred of the Stones, he allowed his gaze to do the vast amount of communicating for him before actually beginning to speak, not stopping the bitterness from entering his voice.

"True Knights of Renais, aren't you… you interrupted my sweet victory, just as your commander had done at Castle Renais. No matter… she has already borne my mark. Tell me…" Valter's face contorted into a victorious sneer, "Can two such as yourselves defy fate? Already, the first of the curses has come to pass. Two are yet to arrive… can you truly expect to protect the Princess, at the expense of your own lives? Traitors lose their lives today; traitors lose their lives today." With a triumphant laugh, the wyvern knight was suddenly engulfed in a scarlet light, which had enveloped him like a cocoon before imploding… and yet, it left no sign of Valter behind, with the exception of his echoing cackle. Likewise, his spear and the wyvern that had been tied outside had all but vanished.

Picking up Eirika and whatever discarded pieces of armor had lain strewn about, Kyle dutifully replaced her armor, buckling it back onto her unconscious form even as Forde complained and almost turned as green as his friend's hair… it wasn't fair, he thought, the way he could handle a beautiful girl like that; even if he was so-called 'more dutiful', shouldn't he have a shot at the girls once in a while?

Scooping up the girl's form, the two rode back through the desert, completely missing the glint of silver that had been present on the very spot where Eirika had once stood…

--End Flashback--

"…I see." Holding back the disgust and shock that he truly felt in his heart, he could not help but sympathize with the princess's… less-than desirable experience. He had taken the bite of the man's lance, and knew that she hated him, as well; even so, she had been subjected to tortures that could have only been exceeded by rape… which Valter might have done, had the two not arrived in time. Shaking his head at the odd account of the quake, he could see nothing new on the horizon… however, a sharp cry from the skies told him all he needed to know.

"General Seth…! I see a new land… just beyond the coastal borders!" Looking down, Tana almost shrieked devilishly from fear and anxiety as she continued.

"They're… an army is attacking my home! Frelia is being invaded by foreigners!"

(...Thanks for my two reviewers thus far, DarkestDarkness andAru Feuer. If it weren't for you guys, I wasn't sure if I'd ever update. But now, with readers, I've got motivation. Read and review, people!)


	4. Chapter 3

Ch. 3: Discovery

The castles of Elibe were filled with chaos rather than order, and frantic struggles to comprehend rather than the cool, calm demeanors they each had made for themselves. Kings wronged in the past had risen from their graves, including the former king of Bern. This rose some suspicion among the court as to why he, of all people, had returned from his burial grounds… surely he had not murdered anyone, they had said, so why would he have returned? As far as they were concerned, only the murderers had returned from the grave, or at least those who had fought in what the few who had seen it had called the Second Scouring.

Rath and Lyn had been grief-stricken at the loss of the Kutolah tribe, and could not bear to hear the loss of her fellow Sacaean, Guy. However… both he and his nemesis, Matthew, had been revived; a marvel that had been confirmed by the now-younger myrmidon's yells of disdain and malady as Matthew's laugh of glee and mischief could be heard in a world that he had sworn would never hear a word from his lips again.

Hector had the most problems, in this regard. After being mortally wounded at the hands of the Dragon Generals, he had fallen into the peaceful rapture of death in the young lord's arms before being burned in a ceremonial pyre. And thus, he had had a problem that not many of the others had faced, being buried beneath the earth. Now, he, who had been one of the largest men in his army, had been stuck, attempting to pull himself from a quickly 'shrinking' vase (when in fact he had been indeed reforming to his former corporeal state)… eventually, feeling the walls of the brass container threatening to shatter his newly-formed ribs again, he had used his strength to push the walls outwards, thus showering the area around him with ash as the vase walls gave way. Of course, this had left the rather embarrassed lord sitting naked and young again in the middle of enemy territory… not the best situation he could have imagined, but he had waited until nightfall to grab some clothes from a peddler and leave the country through the border of Lycia and Bern. It had been roughly a week afterward when he returned home, thoroughly angry and confused. Unlike the others, he knew of the current time, since he had died but recently… and he knew his wounds were fatal.

Especially frantic were the castles of Pherae and Ostia, whose entire system of politics had been thrown into a state of chaos in a matter of seconds. The Marquess Pherae had been resurrected, even though only those in the room knew him to be dead… and a vicious dragon had erupted from the earth of the Pheraean courtyard. Those who witnessed the marvelous beast pull its way out of the dirt could not explain what they were seeing, and Fa had giggled at the rather traumatic sight. The naive little mamkute had believed the ice dragon to have been playing a game of hide-and-seek, and had only now finished counting. Though the others were quite confused at Fa's sudden departure into a closet to hide, Sue had shaken her head once she comprehended the girl's reactions, and reason for it.

Reaching her head up into the sky, the dragon shrieked, bellowing for a moment in what sounded like pure lamentation before, lowering her head to the earth while remaining in her semi-standing position, a shuddering gasp emerged from her form. The ruby eyes of the serpent seemed to be widening as it did so, its muscular chest heaving with its breath as it labored to get accustomed to the atmosphere of Elibe. A soft sapphire glow emerged from its upper torso and, suddenly, the dragon began to shrink. The formerly monolithic terror had within a few seconds become a thin young woman with teal hair, gasping for air while holding a strange stone in her hands and clutching it against her chest.

Realizing that there was much to discuss, but also knowing that enemies could hide in wait at any moment on the new continent, Eliwood called the nation's citizens to his castle… specifically, those who had participated alongside him and Hector to being peace to Elibe, all those years ago. Though time could not turn back, it appeared that they all had been given a second chance. As for why, however… they could not tell.

---

Riding the waves of the sapphire sea that was still churning slightly from the meeting of the lands, the Davros once again set sail; only this time, the target was not the twice-visited Dread Isle, but the new continent that had descended upon Elibe. Fargus had been all too happy to take them aboard… even though the Port of Badon had mixed feelings about his return from the grave, they nonetheless endorsed the voyage in the Marquess of Pherae's stead. Fargus was a bit confused as to his returned strength and Eliwood's returned youth and health, but welcomed them aboard once more with open arms. Because the eastern side of the new land was littered with jagged rocks, they had sailed around the continent, looking for an adequate place to land on the western coast.

Lilina had chatted happily with her mother and father before boarding, whilst the others of the later generation filed a bit more cautiously on board. Parents of said generation coaxed them on board with little problems, but that left a more crowded ship for the pirates to deal with. Dart seemed to have no problem with this, however, and simply threw rascals that were too noisy below deck. Not surprisingly, first Clarine, then Serra were tossed there first. Even though Clarine was Pent and Louise's unruly child, it appeared that her Aunt Serra had had a much greater effect on her behavior than either of her well-mannered parents.

Lucius stood by the stern of the ship, looking out into the distance while a hand gingerly touched a spot just below his rib. Gasping at the contact and the slight pain that it had initiated, he had turned in time to see the ruby eyes of his long-time friend filled with concern that would have otherwise been invisible to all else who beheld his deceptively cold gaze. Raven, knowing what must have happened to him in his absence, had silently motioned to his sister, who had likewise approached to lay her hand on his painful wound. Though it should have gone away upon his revival, the spear that had felled the bishop had still been in his body when he awoke… thus, the spear had jutted out from his body, and had yet to heal. Now, though, with the soothing energy of the valkyrie's hands coursing through the ailment, he could feel torn muscles and injured nerves mend, and could feel the pain subside as a wound he should never have taken closed. The memory had caused him far more pain than its physical counterpart, however, and this continued to ail him long after the kind-hearted healer and her brother left his side. He was a bit aggrieved when his young charges did not remember him, but made no moves towards trying to reassure them of his identity as the caretaker of the Araphen orphanage.

Just like him, Priscilla also was haunted by ghosts of her past… ghosts that mainly took the face of the one love she could never have, and dreams that reminded her of his departure. Over and over again she had experienced his leaving, and every night, old emotional wounds were torn open again and again; never once had they been allowed the chance to heal, and not one night had since then had she been graced with a peaceful night's sleep.

Meanwhile, across the vast deck, Roy had stood alone with his father and began to adjust to the sudden… events that had come to pass. While joyous, the young lord kept in mind that not all miracles lasted forever.

"Father, are you sure this is wise?" Roy had asked hesitantly, a bit unnerved to see both his father and his mother before him… let alone at the same age as him. It was odd to call this man his father, now that he appeared only two years older than him, at most. He could truly see the resemblance that others had claimed him to share, though, but that did not put his mind at ease. Grateful but confused, he had only recently returned from the council that most of the nations had called together, and friendly faces greeted them with renewed youth and vigor. However, several faces had been seen as gaunt, as if they had never wanted to return from the graves they had so peacefully lain in for so long. For the most part, the majority of them were ecstatic at regained youth… but those who were revived were met only with confusion.

Lyndis and Rath had an extremely hard time adjusting to life again. Though it was not as if they had forgotten their native tongues or knowledge, they had passed away a few years ago and had not heard the extent of Bern's treachery. Rath had at least known of the attack, as he had died in the assault that had ruthlessly felled Sacae beneath the iron fist of Zephiel… but Lyn could not bring herself to grasp that the child they had rescued in the past would rise in malevolent glory to strike down the prominent nations of the world. Not only that, but the amount of time that had passed made it hard for both mother and daughter to recognize one another… it was a dire emotional blow for both, not being able to distinguish their own kindred amidst the reunited army. Florina, having woken up in the Tomb of Royalty within Ostian grounds, had been so terrified of the corpses surrounding her that she had shrieked… which allowed the others to find her. No one who revived had any knowledge of their deaths, remembering only the dire events beforehand and assuming that they had survived through miraculous healings.

Sin had greeted Rath with a bow of his head, and the older man had cautiously returned the gesture before, silent as always, he pointed towards Sue… a test, more than anything, to make sure he was more interested in protecting the girl than making her his future bride. Upon seeing the slight but nonetheless evident hints of a blush that had crept up to the younger teenager's cheeks, the father of the Sacaen girl shook his head momentarily before patting the bow that he held vigil at his side. If he was to court his daughter, or so the tribe had dictated in the past, he must be able to defeat the bride-to-be's father in combat. Looking to see if her father was in the vicinity as he looked around - since Rath clearly did not look the proper age to be Sue's father - Sin shrugged, leaving it at that. If he saw her father, his nonchalance told the older man, he would challenge him to fight someday. Deciding to let him wallow in his ignorance, Rath shook his head once again before turning and walking away from the younger man, moving farther along deck towards the stern of the Davros.

All of this was communicated in absolute silence, leaving others but Lyn and Sue wondering what they were miming or mimicking when others' backs were turned… after all, no one but the two could really tell whether they were talking to one another, mocking others, or putting on an act, just for the sake of confusing other members on board. Roy, having noticed this going on for a while now, decided not to pry as he heard his father's far less labored voice respond to him with the same gentleness he had remembered from his earliest days.

"Yes, Roy… I'm certain. We can trust them… they've taken our army to Dread Isle twice before." He smiled a bit as he saw Roy's eyes widen from the mere mention of the supposedly forbidden land, and would not have believed it if Dart had not nodded a bit in response. The said pirate was now crossing the deck, and heartily shook hands with Eliwood once again with a cordial expression on his face. He was happy for several reasons… one, he had never planned to see him again, and two, he was surprised at how close the continents were to one another. One could swim, if they could brave the hostile currents that ran between them. The third reason was that his daughter had just returned from Ilia, having been knighted just recently.

"Ahoy, landlubber… never thought I'd be seein' you again. And same with you, lass." Dart smirked, craning his neck a bit to see a nervously smiling Ninian hiding behind her husband. She was still in her dancer's attire, ready as always to perform the dance that had rejuvenated her friends for so long… even if she hadn't performed the sacred ritual in several years, it was as fresh in her mind as if it had last happened only yesterday. Something seemed amiss, though, even though the reason for it never quite registered until that feeling returned to her… her abilities returned with a vengeance, and so did she once again feel what had saved their lives countless times in the past.

A sudden cold pang struck the ice dragon's heart, and the death-like chill that had quickly coursed through her spine told her something that she should have foreseen beforehand… and she noted that the little mamkute, Fa, had noticed this as well. The small dragon girl - who had formerly been frolicking about on deck and marveling at the strange, salty breeze and the 'big water' that surrounded them as far as they eye could see - had paused suddenly; her glistening emerald eyes turned feral as she whipped around, snarling as fiercely as she could towards the sky. Though the smaller dragon did not have the same true power as Ninian, she could nonetheless hear them from far off, and could see them if she tried hard enough. Others were convinced that they shared the same power, when in truth, the small one simply had more acute senses than her senior. She had heard the wings of pegasi beating in the distance, and had heard them drawing their lances. Sure enough, she saw their snowy forms flying gracefully towards their ship.

"Fa sees danger! Fa hears danger!" The small girl yelled, letting her soft, white wings with blue tips emerge from her back as she continued pointing frantically to the eastern side of the ship. Pegasus knights poured out of a large tower, yelling something as they approached the ship. Realizing there would be no time to communicate unless aerial units would dispatch a message, Heath quickly leapt onto his wyvern before taking to the skies. The said winged knights scattered at his approach, fluttering like butterflies away from him and stopping only when he lowered his lance; even then, because of Grado's heavy use of the winged serpents, the Frelian knights were extremely wary of this newcomer.

Patting Hyperion's coarse neck gently, Heath could hear his partner's nervous growls as he looked to and fro between the snowy pegasi that flew before him. The green-scaled wyvern had seen many such knights in the past, and all had fallen beneath its owner's lance… but still, it did not like how they darted around so quickly, flitting through the air like flies as he himself preferred a more straightforward approach, choosing to cut pegasi off from possible escape routes before seeing their mangled corpses obey gravity's absolute law. Now, however, he was forced to fly in an almost stationary fashion before them, making sure that the said horses did not swing around to strike his back. The wyvern was as paranoid as his comrade, ready to strike out at any and all units who approached him without his knowledge.

It was said that wyverns and pegasi never truly took masters, and such was the case in this pair. While Hyperion and Heath could be considered friends of sorts, they were more concerned about having another pair of eyes watching their back than having a partner to talk to or socialize with on the army's spare time. As such, the paranoid duo was synchronized in an odd fashion, with each watching out for the other while knowing the other watched their back, as well. Pegasi, on the other hand, were simply paranoid that their riders would have men touch them. The winged mounts never liked men, and that was true here, as well. The pegasi fidgeted beneath their riders, clearly not wanting to be in the company of a 'dirty' human male. Realizing that the only way to end the tension was to speak to them himself, Heath cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Peace! We mean you no harm. We are inhabitants of the continent across the sea. May we see the land that has now become one with ours?" Heath asked, keeping his tone as professional as possible even as several of the pegasus knights scowled at his wyvern. He noted with a little bit of worry that none of his own pegasus knights had arrived to back him up, and wondered if he was fighting a lost cause. An air of suspicion surrounded the opposing knights as one of them began to speak.

"We have no need of foreigners here!" One of them shouted, only to be silenced by a superior officer.

"Silence! Allow me to speak with him." Urging her pegasus forward with a nudge of her legs, one of their number approached Heath and Hyperion, making sure to remain just outside of lance distance, should he choose to attack. The woman appeared to be in her early twenties, and yet carried a regal air about her that suggested that she had led this force for a few years, at least. Shaking her head at the knight who fell back, her azure eyes communicated her silent apology as she returned her gaze towards Heath. Her teal hair flew about in the slight but varied air currents that rushed around them, with only the ponytail and circlet that lay in her hair keeping the strands from interfering with her vision. She bore on her breastplate the insignia of Frelia, and the crimson wings that had been placed around it bore her rank as commanding officer of one part of the Frelian knights.

"I am Khris; officer of this brigade, the third wing of the Pegasus Knights of Frelia. If you would allow us several weeks and the name of your country, we may bring this up to our King in the council…" The woman began, but a voice that perked up behind Heath interrupted sharply.

"A few weeks? I'm not getting paid weekly! Say, listen, I know what you're saying, but we're not waiting that long. I'm not, at least." Heath groaned at Farina's statements, knowing they were most definitely not going to approve of her small tirade, and especially not the fact that she had all but pushed through them with her pegasus, Murphy, to continue on towards shore. And, as he expected, they retaliated with a few words of their own; however, he didn't expect them to raise their lances quite so quickly in retaliation.

"Such insolence! To defy his Highness means death! Third wing, attack!" With that, the group of enraged pegasus knights seemed to explode into feathers, with its swift warriors splitting apart and flying off in various directions, while letting their paths overlap enough so that guessing their numbers was difficult if they had not done so beforehand. Using this to confuse their opponents while masking their path of attack, this plan also backfired, rendering them also oblivious to the incoming attack until it was almost upon them.

The paths of the scattered pegasi seemed to be multiplied in frenzy tenfold when two Dragon Masters swept through, swinging their lances to intimidate more than harm. Brother and sister swept through, a perfectly smooth and synchronized dance of wings and scales as they swept through the cloud of feathers, with each growling slightly in frustration as some of the pegasi eluded their attempts at herding them into a group. Roughly a quarter of the group, however, was caught between Zeiss and Miledy's lances; and thus, they were forced to remain stationary or lose their lives to the serpent-riding warriors. As much as Miledy would have loved to see Gale's face at her aerial victory against the pegasi, she knew now was not the time to be thinking about a lover she had all but lost in the year past. She had slain her love with her own lance, and that memory alone would haunt her for the rest of her days. The blue-haired dragon master that had been cold to all but her was gone now, naught but a whisper in the wind reminding her of the precious man that she had lost.

"Look what you've done, Farina!" The woman's sister chastised, shaking her head as she flew towards the brigade that now moved swiftly towards them. The aqua blue-haired woman remembered the formation, similar to one used in Ilia's training areas when she had just been knighted. Letting the ever-rare smile cross her face, Fiora turned to the right side of the pegasi; looking slightly towards her shy, orchid-haired sister, who likewise veered to the left flank of the group, she smiled, knowing that at least one of her sisters had remembered. However, she noted with a groan that Farina herself had chosen to spar one-on-one with the commander, leaving the triangle they had been trying to form incomplete. Luckily, a spare pegasus knight had joined their ranks, with Thany rushing in to plug the essential position in her mother's stead. The newly instated pegasus knight almost glowed with glee as she held several others at lancetip, prepared to shout the words of the Ilian knights that would signal the attack, should any try to escape.

"Hold, archers! Do not strike!" Yuno, though technically not nearly as skilled as the others, nevertheless yelled towards the arrow-carrying units as she sailed through the air, wishing that her husband, the paladin Zealot, had been on some sort of winged mount to support her in the skies. Not letting this deter her, the violet-haired pegasus knight her mount carry her into the skies and within range to help her sister, Tate, keep a couple more pegasi under their lances. It was almost pathetic, she noted, how they stayed so servile; it was as if they were simply waiting for an opportunity of some sort to liberate them from their holds, or perhaps already accepting their fate. And yet, looking around, Yuno found no such reinforcements of any sort arriving by sky or by sea…. And she saw no reason for them to meaninglessly surrender. Nevertheless, she argued not with their choice of action, and stood vigil while guiding them towards the ship.

Once the remainder of the knights had been gathered into submission, Zeiss noticed the rather aggrieved look that one of the pegasus knights had given to no one but the sky; moving a bit closer to his sister, he motioned to the knight's vacant expression and somber demeanor before asking her what ailed her.

"We have already lost," She said simply, hanging her sapphire-haired head downwards while letting tears fall onto her pegasus's mane. "Our beloved Frelia had already fallen a week back, and now we have lost the rest of our lands to foreign soldiers. May the saints forgive us… we have lost." Miledy, who had heard her short but self-explanatory tale, felt her heart become filled with sympathy…. She had heard the girl's tone of voice once before, and from her princess, nonetheless; only now, it concerned this young woman's land, rather than her lady's brother's actions against it. Looking up and towards Farina, Miledy could not help but smirk a bit as the pegasus knight's older sister quickly barked an order which made her immediately cease combat with the commander.

"Farina! Pay to cease!" Though quite the unusual order to the ears of most soldiers, those of Ilia easily recognized that as the command that could save their lives… and increase their wages… in the midst of combat. Farina had always been rather attuned to this command, though she would also press to fight a few more foes before leaving (since she was usually paid either by the fallen foe or by elapsed time). This time, however, she was left in a lance-lock with the commander, and was content to keep it that way as she shouted back towards her sibling.

"What for? She attacked me first!" Farina whined, pushing a bit more against the lance. Tate, breaking away from Yuno, quickly moved in between the two combating pegasi and clutched their weapons in her hands before pulling them apart. Though not especially strong by any means, she was nonetheless fueled enough by determination to at least hold them at bay. It was only when Heath replaced her to clutch the lances tight in his hands that she backed off, allowing her to both catch her breath and look around for additional foes before speaking.

"We have heard of Frelia's defeat! We have not come to conquer you, noble knights of the skies." The thin girl could not help but see the distrust in Khris's eyes, and gulped a bit as her gaze turned sharper than daggers. It was almost like insulting her father's cooking at home, it had gotten so bad… after all, pirates couldn't cook anything better than rough gruel… Shaking off that thought, she saw that Fiora had taken Zeiss's place at the pegasi, thus allowing the former commander of Bern's wyverns to speak. However, Khris beat him to the punch, almost spitting her words towards the foreigners.

"So the last land had said. They came on the backs of monstrous wyverns, darkening the sky beneath their wings before our cavaliers were decimated by a beast from times past. And yet, that did not seem enough for them… no, we fought the reptilian behemoth for days, and now we are the last of our country's military. We believed the ancient beasts to have been all but extinct, by now. Our crown prince and princess were not present, luckily, but the king remains barred in his own country. All you see before you…. A scant two dozen, at best… this is all that Frelia now has to offer. Destroy us all, if you wish it, but leave our king at peace. He has suffered enough." Refusing to let any more tears fall from her eyes, she allowed her sorrow to nonetheless burrow its way into her heart, letting the seed that was tragedy take root before, unwillingly, allowing its tendrils to spread. She could feel nothing but sorrow, she knew, when she thought of her king… the king she had failed, along with her country. She looked up when she felt a weight on her shoulder, and saw Zeiss give her an almost invisible smile; an attempt to comfort her, to rid her of her guilt.

"We do not wish to harm your lands, nor do we desire to conquer new territory. We travel only to assure that we…" He let the sentence drag off, realizing what he had been about to say. He had just been about to mention Bern, and how they wished for the empire not to acquire new lands, but… apparently, they were already too late.

"Assure that you what?" She shrieked, twisting her shoulder away from his hand. "You, too, ride a serpentine beast! You, too, arrive from the country of destruction! What have we done, to have cursed ourselves to this fate!" The woman yelled, now letting her sorrow express itself as the tears fell freely down her eyes. Like a cascade of diamonds, the transparent, sparkling streams made their way down her cheeks, traversing the valley that was her flesh before…

The entire brigade was shocked into silence as a hand flew across their leader's face, throwing her head violently to the side while leaving a large red mark that began to swell as soon as the hand left. Once again, the bold but reckless Farina had made her mark on these pegasus knights, and both times had she pocked their honor with her insolence. Now rubbing the back of her palm slightly at the force of the backhand she had given to the girl, she noted that the shocked expression had not left her face, and she had yet to crane her head back to its normal, upright position.

"Grow a spine, will ya? Yeesh, and to think that we thought you were honorable pegasus knights. Just keep fightin' until ya got nothin' left in ya, see?" Apparently her already brash manner had been increased twofold by being around Dart for two decades, and her manner of speaking had been changed a bit, as well. Thany hung her head a bit in shame at her mother's actions; knowing that coherent thought during these situations was foreign to her mother's short-tempered ways, she decided to let the question of whether or not she was making a complete fool of herself drop. She wondered how she, being so light-hearted, came to be so much different than Farina or Dart… she saw her mother scowl again before barking one last order.

"Now pull yourself together and tell me what the hell is going on here."

The resounding sounds of her sister's sighs of exasperation were all that were heard before the Frelian knight began to speak.

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Deep within the Empire of Grado, within the noble estate of Grado Castle, a strange aura had made its home within the palace walls. Though one might have attributed it to Grado's newfound climate beneath the Elibean sky, several within the maze of corridors and multitude of halls knew the true origin of the eccentric and dark atmosphere. Following the almost endless honeycomb of doors and dungeons that lay strewn about behind the throne room that beheld the king on his throne, one, provided they knew the way, could find themselves in a strange enclosure, sealed from the outside world by what could only be described as a barrier of light and dark energy, with each element working in symbiosis with the other. By keeping one another balanced and intertwining within each other, the two elements had woven together to create a shield that would serve two purposes regarding trespassers; to warn, as the light does to its owners, and to harm, as the darkness did to its foes.

A small man, hunched over with bags hanging under his eyes smiled in an almost fiendish manner as his gaze followed the man before him. Though the man himself was haggard, a man of great age and supposed wisdom, it was not he who was the origin of the aura that had impregnated the very stones that built the Castle Grado, but the younger, thinner man who stood before him. When a sudden cloud of darkness eclipsed Riev's view of his lord, he made not a move to improve his vision; if it was his lord's wish to remain invisible and inaudible, then who was he to object? He was a subject to his liege, and would sooner bow before Rausten's king again than to disobey the might of his lord.

It was not the man himself that was subject to a one-man conversation, but rather two presences in one mind…. The owner of the mind, held servile by the dark tendrils of another. Even as Riev stood vigil by his lord, within the young man's head was a battle constantly raging between the controller and the slave whose mind and body was his new home of flesh. A sinister glow seemed to lace the force's words, which were never spoken; rather, they were thought, and thought all the more loudly for the message to pound painfully into the weaker man's soul and mind. The voice was laced with distaste and disappointment, but even more so was the taunting undertone that would have provoked any other man into a state of anger… however, a weak mind such as this sat feebly by, taking the abuse while only voicing his anger through his thoughts, rather than actual actions.

Perhaps that would have been expecting too much, after all, to have thought the frail prince of Grado to have been able to break the shackles of servitude that had enslaved his feeble mind. No one but the Saint Latona had ever broken free of the enmity's control once it had grasped hold of them, for the creature was violent and possessive, clawing its way into a mind and forcing down a deep root that would anchor the spirit into the man's thoughts and emotions. From there, it was a simple hat trick for the vicious spirit to then seize control over the frail cocoon of flesh that now enraptured it in the first physical body it had felt in centuries.

This malevolent spirit was known by the mortals as none other than the Demon King.

…_You failed, Lyon. But it was to be expected, wasn't it? It appears that your desire to read the spellbook yourself was not to follow the incantations… foolish Prince. Interfering with the Planet's fate has done nothing but cause pain to your pitiful kind, the mortal race of men. Do you not see that? And I had thought you were to become, 'a kind leader, who thought of nothing but the people'… and yet, you decimate their planet. A wonderful choice you have made, Prince. You have done your father proud. _A sinister, leering voice rang through the young man's mind, a baritone thunderclap that seemed to rattle his mind from the inside out. From the sheer volume of the voice that had left his mind's eye reeling from the force, the crown prince of Grado was firmly convinced that Riev must have heard it, even on the outside. The emotions that rallied behind it - spite, mockery, bitterness, and anger – served only to increase the severity of the voice, matching its volume with all its intensity.

However, the excommunicated bishop showed no signs of having heard anything unusual, nor did he reveal any implication of him having seen anything unusual. Though he would normally have cringed – even though the voice was only in his mind – Lyon found that he could not even do this simple reflex. Sighing, he would have hung his shoulders, had the Demon King allowed it.

_What good would it have done to resist what you wanted me to do, even if it required me pouring my soul into something that I did not believe in? Had I not agreed to even go through with the ritual, you would have forced my body into submission, anyway._ The teenager thought bitterly, which was rewarded once more by a tremendous roar of laughter that echoed in all its intensity through his mind. Lyon resisted the urge to hiss an almost inaudible swear from the pain it caused him, even though no officials or gossiping maids were around to hear him speak them; for who could wander into his mind and crawl back out as they pleased? He was far too meek to even consider the small hope that the Demon King might one day relinquish his hold on his body, for he was also too rational to believe that this shell of flesh, let alone the soul that no longer owned it, would survive by the time the Demon King saw fit to leave.

_Ah, so you have learned at last. It took my last host far too long to realize that… though defiance had made the devouring of his soul that much sweeter._ Oddly enough, this was more of a thought drenched in nostalgia than one stained with mockery; however, this quickly changed to a sharp, snappish tone as he changed gears on the lavender-haired prince. _We move to the new lands. It appears your blunder has done us some good._

_What? Whatever for? Is this land not enough to appease you?_ Lyon pleaded within his mind for a moment, wondering just how he was going to convince the former lord of demons to simply sit idly by as the citizens of Elibe had the chance to gather and bear arms beneath Grado's nose. No, the king would never allow it… if Lyon could not govern his own soul, what could he do to convince his body's new owner to relinquish his possible hold on an entire continent, full of potential fodder for his hordes? Suddenly, he was suddenly very grateful for his knowledge of books, for a legend came to mind. _Do you not require the shrine in Darkling Woods to revive your true corporeal form?_

…_Why not conquer both lands, human prince? Hm? Apparently, such narrow-minded thoughts are not restricted to the fools of the mortal realms, I see… I'd thought to see a bit more sense from you than that. Quite an arrogant little worm, you are. _Hissing at the boy's ignorance, he allowed one of his fangs to scrape across the boy's spiritual form, lacing his body with pain as the young man threw his head back and cried out from pure agony. Chuckling as he opened his cruel maw to strike another excruciatingly painful blow, something made him pause. A soft, emerald glow had begun to warm the atmosphere slightly, with the sphere of light visible only to Lyon's eyes alone as the Demon King temporarily released his hold on the boy's soul. Choosing instead to control the body, he looked through eyes that were not his, and into the small sphere.

Hovering in an almost nonchalant fashion before them was a small glow, a face appeared within… a rather haggard looking man, with only one eye showing as the other lay covered beneath the large strips of cloth that composed his turban. His hard features were softened only slightly with age, but the Demon King could see within the fine lines that he had lived far beyond the normal expectations of the human life span; perhaps three, maybe four or five times as long, it seemed. His tan complexion belied his true age, and the demonic entity could almost smell the death of hundreds of men, so strong was the aura. Instantly intrigued, the demon set aside his pride and allowed himself to associate with yet another weak human being. Putting up the façade as the Prince of Grado, he decided that he should let the prince have time to play… and, as such, he allowed Lyon the rare opportunity to speak of his own accord.

"…Who are you?" Lyon asked hesitantly, relishing the feel of moving his own lips and eyes again as he stood there, watching the man's face contort from a respectful, solemn expression into a swift scowl. He seemed to be looking for something, or someone, but gave no clues as to who he was or why he had contacted the palace in the first place. Lyon wasn't even sure how he got past Riev and the Demon King's shield, and neither did the parasite that was housed within him.

"I am seeking… I was seeking a being with a vast amount of power; one unmatched by any but the dragons. I have looked, and have found him here. Who is he?" The man rasped, clearing his throat before speaking again. It appeared that, even though he had been through the countless trials of life, something new had come to ail him… though, with a strand of what could only be described as a silk thread of emerald energy that he weaved around his throat, whatever ailed him quickly disappeared. The quintessence gone, the Demon King once again wrestled control away from the prince, leaving the said member of royalty to moan and yell in pain as control was once again ripped from his senses. All he could feel now was pain… pain that only afflicted the areas he had used while still in control of his body. It made him fearful to do much of anything when he was allowed movement, and perhaps that was what the entity wanted.

"Perhaps you have sought me. I see your soul, drenched with the souls of mortal men… and that of the mamkutes and a few dragons. Tell me… who are you?" The man in the orb's eye widened before a smirk of victory took the shocked expression's place on his face. Curtly bowing before him, even though only the upper torso was visible, the man smiled as he said,

"My name is Nergal… and I wish to speak to you; the Demon King, Lord of Magvel. I have a proposal for you…"

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((Thanks for the reviews, guys. I wanted the meeting to be in this chapter, but I kinda got carried away. It should be in the next chapter… or, at least, I hope it'll be. ))


	5. Chapter 4

(I received a PM from Adobe, and was more than happy to incorporate the idea into the story. If you have any suggestions, whether it be pairings or otherwise...by all means, PM them to me before the plot and pairings are set in stone. :) Any and all ideas are welcome, but probably not all will be used... sorry 'bout that. I still want it to be my story, ya know.)

Ch. 4: To Meet at Last

Once their conversation was complete, Nergal smiled softly to himself while chuckling lightly… with such a force on his side, what could stop him now but the promise that he himself had just made? Turning his head slightly after dispelling the orb of light that had transmitted his image to the Grado keep, he once again admired the majesty of the Dragon's Gate, even while it remained locked from the unreachable realm on the other side. He knew there were other dragons, however, and had seen them himself, roughly half a century ago. Upon thinking about Arcadia, his thoughts immediately turned from blissfully reminiscent to sour.

That had been his first meeting with Athos, the archsage. Both had cheated the debilitating plague known as old age and had discovered the path to unrivaled longevity, and each wished to learn more… for what was all of time, if one could not take advantage of what had been given to them? Why live life in utmost ignorance, when the potential for unlimited knowledge was at his fingertips? Having wandered what felt like years beneath the harsh Nabatan sun and the fiercely frigid desert nights, they had finally come upon what they never thought was possible… a village, where dragon and human lived together in harmony. It was there, within the beasts' library, that they found their fountain of knowledge… springs of information that would have never otherwise been discovered by human minds, as the dragons far surpassed the inferior intellect of the human psych. It was then that he discovered his lifeblood, which now sustained his life once again… quintessence.

Having sacrificed his body and quintessence to open the Dragon's Gate those few fateful years ago, he cared not to wonder just how or why he had returned from his grave. Either the gods somewhere favored him, or some god-forsaken saint was cursing him from afar to have filled his newly regained vision with painful mortality. Yes, Elimine must be mocking him somewhere, keeping that ever-constant, gentle smile on her face as she watched this 'wicked, wicked man' writhe in his misery. He had always hated that forsaken, blonde witch of a bishop, and had wished her dead from the moment his eyes had been filled with her illustrious light. She was luscious, indeed, and that made her all the more despicable, in his eyes; she had been a vile hypocrite, smiting the mighty dragons with the power of light she should not have been able to wield, had she followed her own teachings of nonviolence. The woman condoned murder, and yet committed it time and time again through the ages of the Scouring, covering her hands with blood of the most powerful beings alive… she considered the murder of all life forms to be vile, though dragons seemed to be the only exception to her rules. Though she had not been there to see the acquisition of his first strands of life, the weak threads that had been taken from a mere insect, he knew she would have been disgusted to see him go so against the teachings she held so dear.

He could just hear Athos's voice, too, hoarsely chastising him from wherever he now lay. He had no idea that the famed Living Legend had ceased to be, with his corpse being buried in a land far from the Gate he now stood in, nor did he care. All he was concerned with now was this… blasted mortality. He hadn't felt this truly vulnerable since Elbert had driven the dagger through his abdomen, which had left him bound to his bed until his faithful creations had returned to him with the energy he required to sustain his ill-gained longevity and power.

The level of quintessence within his body was running dangerously low… and yet only several thoughts elicited attention in his mind. Morphs… they were what he needed to regain his strength; however, he would need an adequate source of energy before he could even begin to consider the recreation of his perfect morph, Limstella. Ah, how he missed her… she was a daughter to him, albeit a nonliving one. It was as close as he was going to get to recreating his past… his son, his daughter, and now the two morphs that made poor emulations of the soul-filled children that once shared his genetics. He never bothered with the creation of a wife, however… for some reason, it just didn't seem right to recreate love in such a fashion, even though children were not beyond his moral limits. And so, he had placed his thoughts on his former daughter, and how he might dote upon her once she reawakened from her eternal slumber.

Yes, she had been a marvel to behold, that morph… a pale beauty, with cascades of ebony hair coursing down in waves down her back as her golden eyes seemed to always stare emotionlessly into the soul of another. He had dressed her elegantly, with her fine, long sleeved white shirt of silk underlying an ebony dress that reached up to her neck. The fine embroidery of the gold-spun string made her all the more extravagant in all her soulless glory, and yet the outfit did not restrain her movement too much in combat. Her constantly calm, obedient, and quiet nature made her the perfect servant; she was a woman who would never argue against her master, fight back against him, and was a specimen that would give her life without question for him. Her might had been unparalleled by any other magician in all of Elibe, and her morph 'brother' had been no exception to this rule. He gave her life, and she had been more than willing to give her everything to see him pleased. He had placed a part of his soul into the creation of his two marvelous creations, Limstella and Ephidel… and yet, neither had survived the cataclysmic clash with the Elibean soldiers those twenty years ago. Though he had no knowledge of the time that had elapsed, his view of the now cobweb-covered stones of the Gate's floor bore witness to its solitude.

A mere twitch of a muscle was all that was needed to catch his eye as one of the nomads that had died upon the isle had revived, pulling herself up slightly before, realizing whose company she was in, had hastily flopped back onto the ground. The gesture was more than enough to awaken the thirst for life within the blackhearted druid, and immediately his hand outstretched towards the former warrior. Rushing forward with speed that belied his stature and old age, the man was upon the nomad before the Sacaean bowman could so much as budge. Placing a hand to the woman's thin neck, a maniacal glow filled Nergal's hungry eyes as he began to strangle the green-haired woman where she lay.

Trying to get away with the best of her ability from the sheer amount of pressure that threatened to collapse her windpipe, the Qu'tol tribesman could feel the very life drain from her as the oxygen left her lungs. Nergal's thin, clawlike hands grasped at her neck as if there was nothing more important than throttling the woman's throat, with his strength seeming to be fueled by desperation and need. A strange, emerald glow enveloped the girl's vision for a quick moment before the pain began wracking her body in earnest; tremors overtook her from the sheer agony as she could feel something in her heart simply tear away, with only one strangled cry of pure suffering tearing from her held throat before the Sacaean lay still. The remnants of foaming saliva gathered at the corner of her lips, and her chocolate eyes had rolled backwards from the trauma while the eyelids themselves remained eerily open.

Getting up, Nergal made do with tossing the still-warm corpse aside before marveling at his work, caring not how rigor mortis treated the woman's frail flesh. Her quintessence had been wonderful, however, which led him to wonder how he missed such a promising feast that had lain within his grasp. Weaving several threads of the opaque green light known to the dragons as quintessence around his fingers, he admired the elegance of the energy; the woman' life, this was, coiling around his hand… a life that had been pledged to the Fang, which now fueled his own. Breathing in deeply as he allowed the energy to circulate through his body, he smiled and opened his eyes before motioning to a figure that stood vigil in the back of the room. Though the corpse had been reanimated in the forests of the Isle, none of his morphs had returned from the dead… for they were never truly alive to begin with.

"Come to me." He barked, pleased when the red-headed figure gingerly stepped forward before kneeling deeply before him. The figure's brown cloak drifted down, caressing the stone floor with its soft edges as it hung from its wearer's shoulders. Her hair, which appeared a dark crimson in the shadow, was short, but nonetheless covered her facial features from him as he stared at her, immediately remembering who she was. Simultaneously recalling her area of origin, he inwardly sneered for a minute. He could tell that this girl who appeared no more than twenty did not altogether trust him… or rather, did not trust him at all… but he did not care. Not even waiting a moment to let his newfound servant speak, he reached out his right hand and cast out some of his valued quintessence towards her.

The woman was taken aback as the strings took their hold on her body, wrapping around her in an emerald embrace as the strands of energy grasped her neck, arms and legs in almost binding fashion. However, this quickly dissipated, becoming absorbed into her body as Nergal quickly clenched closed his outstretched hand. He heard her gasp from the sudden acquisition of energy, with the woman clutching her chest as she struggled to hold the sudden wave of new energy within her under control. She fought to keep herself from collapsing onto the stone floor, maintaining her kneeling position before him, but unable to move from that spot unless she wished to threaten her sense of balance. The newfound power left her lightheaded, but seemingly added nothing to her fighting prowess. Though confused, she kept silent until curiosity bade her speak.

"…What have you done to me?" Refusing to address him with any title, as she felt he did not deserve one, she let her slightly quaking voice pass through her lips as she struggled to form a coherent question. The shock of feeling another life force within her own, especially when she had been without one for the better half of two decades was overwhelming, and she did nothing to hide her discomfort. Her body had erupted in shudders, with her shoulders visibly shaking from the energy that now enveloped her senses. Entertained but refusing to let her see that, lest she knew how to use that power against him (he had not considered the fact that she had never read from Arcadia's ancient texts, as he had), Nergal spoke, keeping his tone calm and emotionless.

"It is to assure your loyalty. While my quintessence runs through your veins, you carry with you my eyes, ears, and hands. You are to gather adequate quintessence from other sources, former traitor. You may travel as my morphs once did… providing that your loyalty shall never falter. You have two weeks to gather ten measures of quintessence… roughly the amount we received from Elbert. Oh, wait…" He said, pausing before moving closer to the girl, watching her grow nervous at his approach. She had only hinted at this with her emotions, not letting her body betray her feelings… but he, having lived for so long and having felt these waves emanating off of others for so long, could sense nervousness, anxiety, and fear as easily as he could end the said victim's lives.

"You never did see that, did you? How Elbert writhed on the very floor you stand on, simply embroiled in his own personal purgatory of pain." He smiled at her, and watched her visibly flinch before him. He knew that she didn't wish to show him any sort of emotion or weakness, and that made her moment of vulnerability that much more enjoyable for him. It was a slap to the face against her country of origin, he thought, and it would have to suffice… for he had not the strength to combat the powerful nation alone. "Well, nevertheless, those are your orders, on pain of death. Once, you were Ephidel's toy… and now, you are a degraded slave. Complete your mission, or return to rot in the earth, wench."

"…I care not for death. I shall take my leave." The teenage girl muttered bitterly in a servile fashion, getting up once her lightheadedness had left her. Moving towards the entrance of the Gate, she closed her eyes, allowing the energy that coursed through her body to envelop her in a cocoon of crimson light as if, despite it being her first time doing so, it was second nature to her. As her form lifted into the sky and scattered into the breeze, she thought only of one place that she wished to be, more than any other…a place she had never gotten to visit before her death, and had regretted that she had never done so before.

It was less than a second before her form rematerialized in a small village in Ostia, which now lay in nothing but desolate ruin. Buildings were torn down, and those that remained intact bore the cruel scars of a ruthless blaze that had swept through and engulfed the now skeletal building frames. Pens that once held animals had been torn apart, and the hoof prints left by escaping or stolen horses were all but invisible now. She gasped, her eyes widening at the sight of one thing…As she had moved forward, she noticed the marble slab that lay beneath her feet… beneath her lay the grave of a certain, charismatic Ostian thief; the one who had stolen her heart, never returning it to its owner until just before she took the mission that stole away her life. His grave had been looted recently, it seemed, as the dirt before it was roughly overturned and the contents of the coffin eerily empty.

Falling to her knees, the other thief could do nothing but weep bitterly at the headstone of her love, letting the tears fall freely from her crimson eyes for the first time in her life. She had fulfilled half of her promise, but had never had the chance to speak to the parents of the man she held so dear…nor did she ever have the chance to tell him the words that regret had haunted her with for so long.

--

Nergal, having watched her leave, found that he had nothing to accomplish by simply staying here, waiting for some response from the ruler of Grado… he could leave this place, his own dominion, if he wished. However, he noted, he would also have much to gain by staying near this Gate, considering its rather infamous reputation… it would keep potentially dangerous armies at bay while allowing him to wait for the girl to return. There was also the fact that there was a slim possibility that the Gate could be reopened… if he could find another naive mamkute to fool.

What he had gained in patience over the years was severely off-balanced by his anxiety and the anticipation for what was at hand… the chance for his ultimate revenge, his tyrannical acquisition of power, and the toppling of the peace between humans and dragons that Athos so treasured.

Channeling a good portion of his remaining power to his body, he recalled the selected region that had been on the map that the Demon King had passed to him before allowing the energy to envelop his body. Feeling the familiar waves of warmth surround him before closing in on his body, he placed the coordinates first and foremost into his mind before, in a flash, he was gone… and had reanimated outside the gates of Grado Keep. Shaking off the warm, fuzzy aftereffects of the teleportation, he allowed himself to take in the geographical surroundings of the castle before smirking to himself as he ran his plan through his mind.

He had no true intention of fulfilling his end of the bargain until he was assured that the land of Elibe could come under his control with the quintessence of dragons, but there was no need to tell the Demon King that. After all, why sour a relationship that would gain him so much in the long run? The Demon King had power that was monumental, he knew, and the strange book that the youth held was now a new object of curiosity. It had been a volume he had never seen before, not surprisingly, and seemed to depict the images of stones. Could these, perhaps, be used to channel magic? He was most anxious to know, for a potential catalyst for magic was always helpful to have at hand.

Hearing a loud, piercing screech of a wyvern species that he had never seen before, Nergal looked inquisitively to the sky before arching an inquisitive brow. His reaction was a mix of confusion, curiosity, and pity as he spied the rider atop it as they took off towards the West. The Moonstone, Valter, had only just returned, and already had to leave the palace on yet another seemingly frivolous mission. However, for him, any mission that included bloodshed was a mission worthy of his lance.

_The poor beast has lost its front legs_, Nergal thought, peering at the empty expanse of smooth skin where the front legs of a wyvern should have been. _Truly a pitiful existence. And what of its strange, elongated front teeth? Surely one cannot expect a beast to attack, let alone eat with teeth such as those. And why does it not have the tough, armor-like scales of its cousins? Why is its tail so thin, so that it may not strike its foes with it? Its back legs barely look to have claws upon them, either! Surely it must be able to defend itself somehow… Have the great dragons degenerated so much as to produce a creature incapable of living without human care?_

Deciding not to think on it now, the dark druid made his way inside, guided by the strange, one-eyed behemoths that guarded the gate with their massive bulk and excessively large axes. Pock marks lined the muscular arms and legs of the beasts, which shamed trees in their thickness and density as they used the muscle to hold up their immensely tall and thick bodies. Though not morbidly obese, the creatures were solid, carrying more muscle on their bodies than their swollen bellies made them out to have. The said beasts of myth and lore had grunted at him before motioning him to enter with a large sweep of their hands, each of which were easily the size of his chest. His head could have been within their hands by now, he noticed, and had decided that it was for the best to follow them; for the sake of his meeting with Lyon, as well as for his own relative safety. Without the quintessence he needed, he was like a normal human… frail, killable, and frighteningly mortal.

Lyon, having known him to visit, had dismissed the normally posted guards in favor of larger, stronger guards; if this man was malicious, normal soldiers would barely be able to hurt him, but cyclopses were not easily felled. Their bestial appearance was enough to drive most men into cowering from fear, and, though he did not want the dark druid to necessarily fear him, a healthy respect was mandatory.

Descending down the stone labyrinth that lay beneath the noses of the (normally present) castle guard, Nergal continued with his escorts, who had paused before the door to Riev's barrier. Bellowing loudly, the cyclopses were greeted with the opening of the door, allowing the plague of Elibe to enter into the jaws of Magvel's blight.

Things were going to be interesting…

--------

Rushing quickly from the deserts of Jehanna to Frelia despite their knowledge of the Grado army's whereabouts, Eirika and Ephraim's army had proceeded to rudely ignore any mercenary groups that had challenged them in favor of pressing on towards Renais's close ally. Both Innes and Tana were anxious as to the fate of their father, with Moulder, Vanessa, Syrene, and Gilliam sharing the same fear for their lord (Though Gilliam didn't bother to show his emotional status to them, the others knew him well enough to know that he, too, was worried for Hayden.). Luckily, the Republic of Carcino was far more receptive this time around, allowing the army to have free passage through their lands as an attempt at apologizing for their earlier hostility.

Upon arriving at Border Mulan, however, the group was immediately forced to a standstill at Tana's report of their surroundings. They were not alone… and clearly outnumbered by the force that now resided at the fort that lay just a few miles from the Frelian capital. Almost driven to tears from the mere sight of the mass that had accumulated there, it was up to Vanessa's statistical report to relay the numerical figures to the lords. Forced to find a place to hide, they made do with staying within Renais's mountainous borderline with Frelia, where there they met to discuss possible scenarios for several hours while they anxiously awaited the knight's return. Many of the army members camped a small ways away from the strange wyvern corpse that had fallen into the ridge that they stayed at, whose scaly hide was emblazoned with a crest on its saddle that no one recognized.

It seemed for a while that nothing was capable catching Innes's attention from where he had been conversing with Eirika and Ephraim… or rather, had been 'comforted' by the twins of Renais. Being far too prideful and much too stubborn to accept any such condolences from a rival or a startlingly beautiful woman, he had made do with creating battalion tactics with their available units, trying to create as many ways to use their numbers to their advantage while keeping their casualties to a minimum. It was as if he was a madman now, poring over his maps of the area while seemingly trying to calculate possible points of vulnerability and strength within the enemy armies… even though he was trying ten times harder to simply get his mind off the foreign princess. Not the Rausten princess, of course, since she was far more concerned about righteous duty and her appearances than her uncanny ability to scare anyone from her presence… but rather, it was the fare dame of Renais that had captured his fancy, and he certainly felt a bit guilty for that.

He had found that to be a problem, as of late… whenever he had been confronted by Princess Eirika, he could never help but find himself flustered; a weakness he would rather not have in the presence of an old friend. As such, he was left with one of two decisions; either he would live with this strange reaction and allow himself to see her, or avoid her at all costs while simultaneously ignoring this said frivolity. Of course, he had chosen the second, given the current and rather traumatic experience that had occurred in the deserts of Jehanna; even a few days later and after receiving the aid of healers, he could still see the finger-shaped bruises from where the monster's hands grasped her wrists… and, to make matters worse, there seemed to be a silver sigil of a lance burned into the base of her neck, which was now hidden by her red shirt collar. He had only come to see this when she had first been rescued, and had taken her from Seth's grasp to relieve the exhausted knight of his load to make traveling to the healers that much faster. Her head had tilted backwards, giving her a full view of her voluptuous neck, with the marvelous sight interrupted only by that startling silver lance.

_Where had it come from?_ Innes thought for a moment, allowing his concentration to drift for a moment on the sight that had plagued his dreams for the past few nights. Surely she wouldn't have hidden it from her brother or her knight, as she always shared her pains or ailments with them if she knew it would cease their worrying… but neither of them seemed to have taken notice to the strange wound that time and magic would not heal, focusing instead on the marks that the Moonstone had left on her flesh. Even stranger was how, even though she slept in the same tent with her lord brother at night, he did not notice how the spear eerily glowed a soft light from a patch of skin that should never have been able to produce the shade of the metal it resembled in the first place.

Slapping himself on the forehead as he growled slightly in frustration, Innes returned to his work, cursing himself for letting his mind wander and conjure up such… impure thoughts. Perhaps L'Arachel was beginning to rub off on him, after all, considering that lust or wanting for another was an impurity of the worst sort, unless someone was infatuated with her. However, even then, love and need were always mysterious things… never abiding by rules, never staying within boundaries, and quite frankly not caring as to whether or not it was considered righteous or not.

"Cad! Beast! Pervert!Devil!" And, not surprisingly, L'Arachel's said shrieks of fright and her yell of surprise easily told everyone around that someone had misinterpreted something important or sacred in her presence. Quickly recalling that Dozla, Rennac, and Ephraim were the only ones who would touch her with a league-long spear, and deducing that the former two would do nothing to spark such frivolous cries of shock, Innes let a small sigh escape from his lips as he thought of what Ephraim could have possibly done to rile up the she-devil. She certainly wasn't hard on the eyes, and the low-cut front of her corset didn't help matters, but the façade of a brilliant and flawless nymph of myth shattered the moment she opened her mouth to speak. It was no wonder her uncle let her run off… it probably staved the pains of a possible headache or two for the poor man.

"Prince Innes!" A familiar voice immediately made his head snap up to attention as he looked to the sky, pleased to see his emerald-haired pegasus knight returning from her scouting endeavor. What confused him as she descended, however, was that someone appeared to be following her… a slightly different species of pegasus, discernable by the slightly smaller stature of the animal, flew dutifully behind her as the orchid-haired rider commanded her winged steed with utmost mastery. Running over to meet them, he noted that the girl behind Vanessa had squeaked, almost instinctively pulling away before forcing herself and Makar to the earth. The fierce look in Innes's eyes reminded the girl much of Hector's gaze of anger when he faced a foe, making her uneasy; however, duty outweighed fear as she gingerly cleared her throat, gathered her courage, and began to speak.

"S-sir Innes… my name is Florina, wife of the Marquess Ostia." Even now, the title sounded strange on her tongue, but she ignored it for the most part, choosing instead to continue on. "I… I hail from the continent across the sea, from… from one of the provinces making up the Lycian League." Her tone was as strong as she could muster, but even the totality of her courage could not stave the stuttering that ensued from his predatory glare.

"Well met, Dame Florina… I am Innes, Prince of Frelia." Innes answered, albeit a bit suspiciously. Never before had he seen a member of royalty ever refuse to flaunt their power, with the exception of the new Carcino panel of executives; they did not hold much prestige yet, but knew they were to evolve to become as disrespectful and as arrogant as the princess of Rausten. Then again, he had never seen this new country yet, either, save for what Tana and Neimi had seen over the horizon. Vanessa, standing patiently to the side, awaited them to finish their short introduction before speaking.

"Milord, this is the group that we have seen in Border Mulan; the Lycian Army. According to Lieutenant Khris of the Third Wing's report, they had arrived after the capture of Castle Frelia, and have confirmed the identity of the attackers with the help of this foreign army. Apparently they have liberated the castle and had driven out the intruders, but only Khris seemed to have witnessed this feat; none of the other knights even recall there being a struggle for the kingdom's salvation. One of the army's members swore on their honor and another on their blood that they told no lies, but we should continue to investigate into this matter…" Immediately silenced by a slight gesture of Innes's hand, Vanessa awaited her liege to speak. However, it was not he who spoke, but rather his rival, the Prince of Renais.

"What choice to we have, Innes? I see no alternative but to trust them… I doubt they would not speak the truth." Ephraim said simply, not even bothering to blink when Innes fixed a rather disapproving scowl towards him.

"And if they lie? Shall we be surrounded by an enemy force that could have possibly taken down my father's kingdom in the first place? You are a naïve fool, Ephraim." Striving at this point to keep his voice calm and controlled, Innes nevertheless could not help but growl this last statement. He was bitter, angry, and confused at the reason for the attack on Frelia, but could immediately pin it on foreign forces who had wished to obtain portions of this new land.

"I do not believe this lass to be capable of a lie… she looks unlike the type to fall back on deceit and espionage." The azure-haired lord spoke, shaking his head slightly as he answered. The man so reminded her of Eliwood, Florina realized; though as to why, she could not place it. This 'Innes' reminded her of her own husband… so distrusting, easy to fire up, and with quite the caustic tongue.

"I... I have not lied, Sir Innes. P-please… look at this." Holding out the crest of Bern, she then pointed a frail, gloved hand to where the wyvern corpse lay frozen by rigor mortis in the mountain. Indeed, the emblazoned crest matched exactly to that of the corpse, leaving Innes to look at her skeptically. Of course, being in her nature, she flinched slightly at this look, for it was filled with distrust, suspicion, and masculinity; three things she would have preferred him to be without.

"Who rides with you, Dame Florina? And who has attacked my kingdom?"

"…I ride with my husband, Marquess Ostia, Eliwood, known as Marquess Pherae, and Lyndis, the abdicator of the throne of Caelin. All three of them ride forth from the Lycian Alliance, and all wish to join arms to defeat a common foe." Fueled by defiance against his suspicion and skepticism, she scarcely noticed that she had lost both her fear and stutter as she spoke to him. Now using her political power as a sort of bolstering tool, she stood up straight and looked almost like Serra told her to… only, she couldn't quite imagine that Innes was an insect (The thought of seeing any sort of human as a miniscule arthropod never quite worked in her mindset, anyway.).

"Prince Innes of the kingdom of Frelia, the man we seek, the monarch Zephiel of Bern, is the commander of the army that struck your kingdom. Let us fight, side by side, and thus ensure victory against a common enemy." Holding out her hand to shake, she paused, realizing how audacious her speech must have sounded in the ears of monarchy. Almost shrinking back and beginning to apologize, her eyes caught for a moment an entertained smirk from the Frelian Prince. Having been quite entertained by the shy knight's sudden boldness, Innes thrust out his hand to catch hers, surprising the young woman by shaking her hand with a grip famed in the ranks of the Frelian archers. Pretending not to notice as she winced momentarily in pain, as even Ephraim could barely stand his crushing grip, he was surprised to see her return it with as much strength as he could muster.

"Well met, Florina of Ostia… well met." And thus, with a simple shake of a hand, an invaluable bond was created between the two continents... and created a possible spark of hope within their ranks. Perhaps, with the help of another, peace could be attained between two ill-fated lands…


	6. Chapter 5

((The chapter's a bit Eirika-centric. Hope you guys don't mind. :) Sorry for the wait, by the way.))

Ch.5: Brands and Curses

_Dear Diary,_

_I've gone and slipped again, I see… Innes has apparently seen my scar. I don't know what to tell him, quite frankly, but am distressed to say that there's not much I can tell him without breaking into tears. The thought of the Moonstone's eyes glaring at my body and the feeling of his hands running over my flesh… it is simply too much to bear. I must be weak… for even now, I've had to go over this twice to make sure that my tears did not smudge the ink on the parchment. I'm not sure how long I can keep up this cheerful façade, and wonder whether this situation has truly come to an end._

_Every time I think of Valter, the lance ceases its burning, leaving my heart to blaze in its pain alone… however, every time I let my thoughts drift to other romantic interests, it begins to sting me with all the claws of hell's wrath. I can't touch anyone, I can't see anyone with another… it hurts, it truly does. Seth does not notice, and neither does my oblivious brother. And yet, I do not know whether to tell them or not… for it is just as painful to try to tell as it is to hide. I've yet to attempt telling them, as my throat catches every time I try to bring the name of Valter to my lips._

_I am weak, a failure to the status I was born into. He had done nothing to sully what I need to become a pure bride, and yet still I fear the experience. Perhaps it is simply paranoia, but at this rate I'm more concerned about my future than the present. After all, how will I face my fears in marriage if I cannot even bear to feel a touch, let alone the loving caress of another? If I cling to the past, how will I be able to make my future husband happy? Oh, I can scarcely think of matrimony… only two faces come to mind, and both are men I cannot have._

_For one of them is dead, and the other man I love is a taboo relationship… and yet, no one knows that the first is true, and Seth strongly disapproves of the second. But how can the heart be subdued, if not through pain? It seems I have obtained enough of that to curse a nation for several generations. (Though I certainly would never do such a thing.)_

_And yet, I am the Princess of Renais… and I must not falter from my duties, as Seth had told me in days past. I cannot allow myself to dwell on one event over another, just as I cannot favor one vassal over another. I will remain steadfast for my country, and will never show weakness before my subjects again. However… is it too much to ask, that I may write my thoughts and weaknesses in a book that never speaks? I suppose not. It appears writing in this book has turned out to be beneficial, after all. I must thank Tana later for such a good suggestion. Perhaps everyone should write… it certainly takes some of the stress off of my mind._

_Until tomorrow, then._

_-Eirika _

Closing the small, leather bound book and placing it beneath her cot, the princess sighed. It was a tough endeavor, pretending to be someone she was not. She had tried to appear normal before the others… she truly did. When she had been standing before the three lords of Elibe, she had been more than happy to don the façade of a carefree and happy princess of a foreign land. However, she knew that, deep inside, she had much to hide from not only these newcomers, but from her army, her knight, and her brother. It was difficult, but it is easy to place a mask upon one's face once someone has tried the first few times to do so. She tried as hard as she could to emulate her normal personality, wondering how she would react as if she were a different person, staring at herself from afar.

Eirika could not bear to feel the touch of another now, and had pushed away everyone close to her to prevent that from happening. The mere sight of a couple brushing their lips against one another sent chills down her spine, and had sent her from a state of hopeful romanticism to one of utmost fear and despair. The strange mark on her neck continued to burn in its angry fury every time she so much as touched the hand of another, and screamed in excruciating rage when Ephraim had pecked her on the cheek before she had gone to bed. She flinched from human contact, but refused to let that change her normal behavior… she simply avoided touching them, was all.

Hearing the shriek of the wyvern species that the serpent-riding knights of Grado rode, which normally elicited no reaction from her other than surprise, now filled her body with harsh and bitter chills. She could scarcely believe that simple stimuli such as a fort or a desert could affect her so drastically, and yet she could feel his hands on her every single time she saw them. Immediately asking for temporary leave, she would depart for a few moments to compose herself after seeing the fortress at Border Mulan before returning, refusing to let it perturb her any longer while in the presence of others. When alone, she could almost feel a predatory gaze on her, as if someone or something had its eyes on her… whether day or night, she never truly felt alone. Now, more than any other time, she wished for solitude… however, with a camp size more than doubling in less than a day, she was rarely left with time to be by herself. Standing up from her seat on her bed, she walked briskly outside to where she knew she would have things to discuss with the members of Elibean royalty.

Situated comfortably in a field of grass just a half-day's march away from Castle Frelia, the army had pitched their tents in a large circle to better promote inter-army interactions. They seemed to be taking to it well, which made for great relief for the lords; after all, how could an army function together if their units did not agree with one another? To have a rivalry on the battlefield was good and all, but Lyn had seen enough tension between Matthew and Jaffar to know that a large group of soldiers, fueled by vengeance against each other, could never made the army any more efficient than a much smaller force of focused soldiers that watched each other's backs, rather than stabbing them.

In the late afternoon sun, Sain had once again embarked on his eternal hunt for the beauteous members of the opposite sex, leaving members of Eliwood's army to warn the others before they were assailed by compliments galore… or, in Marisa's case, they were sure to warn Sain about her beautiful but efficient work with a blade, lest he slip up during his courting and end up with one less limb. Colm had had several times had to come between Sain and Neimi, especially when he had several times scared her to the point of tears; though it never took much to do that, admittedly, he attributed much of the blame to the paladin, rather than his loved one's loose tear ducts. The knight had even gone so far as to hit on Eirika, which had elicited a scream of genuine fear from her; it was so great, that some even believed her to be faking her terror… Sain was bad, but not truly that terrible. Even the poor man was confused when she left, grasping her neck as if for fear that he would strangle her… but, in reality, it was out of fear that he would litter it with unwanted kisses, as Valter had done.

Saul had tried the same tactics but with the slightly more religious-oriented girls of the army, leaving various clerics, troubadours, and one certain blonde monk throttling him out of the sheer audacity of his scandal. Not only had he desecrated the Elibean belief in Saint Elimine's teachings by using them as flirting tools, he had also invited them to false meetings, had lustful intentions, and had hit on a man who was quite frankly already taken. Though no one could blame him for his mistaking of Lucius's true sex, Raven himself made sure that that message of Lucius's martial status had been transferred to the priest's head loud and clear through his fist; a silent message from him to Saul that basically said, "Hands off."

It may have been a miracle for Saul that he didn't hit on Priscilla, for that in itself would have garnered a death penalty from her brother; after all, he hadn't even approved of Heath (especially after he left her; even now, he was avoiding her, it seemed), and at least he had known the man before she had fallen in love with him. What right did Saul have, then, that the wyvern rider didn't have? In short, none. He was simply another Sain, only with a different profession and a female bodyguard, who never seemed to approve of this. Even now, Raven was quite entertained by the spectacle of the brunette archer fuming at the priest behind the veil of freckles that covered her face.

The pegasus knights seemed to socialize well together, though Fiora had admittedly wandered off to discuss rules of army etiquette and rules dictating order with Kent and Gilliam… much to the dismay of the less-than-orderly members of the group, the three had already begun to draw up contracts with the helpful guidance of Moulder, who had seen such things done before. He, like the others, had found the group a bit too lively for his own tastes, and has secretly wondered for a while whether or not containing them through rules was possible. Though the others couldn't answer that, concerning that units who had not been trained under their command were far less likely to address them with enough respect to give the said list of laws a second glance. They could always be proud of themselves for their work, even though it was at the moment only in its concept stages of development; even if the new etiquette and moral laws that they made should prove unenforceable, they would always have the satisfaction of at least knowing they had tried to keep the unruly campgrounds under control.

Florina had found herself rather at home with the other pegasus knights, though they seemed a bit different from her and her sisters. Tate, Thany, and Yuuno had joined in, as well, while keeping all men from the circle to prevent the nervous behavior that the presence of males always aroused. While this meant keeping Zealot, Hector, and Dart from the circle, none of them seemed to mind too much, since each went his separate ways among the campgrounds.

The wyvern riders had also grouped alongside their winged brethren, with Zeiss and Miledy allowing their mounts to wander about camp at will. They were relatively tame in comparison to other wyverns, having been raised from eggs by the siblings. Now, as they wandered around camp, they were as gentle to everyone as if they were freshly-hatched wyrmlings… however, they seemed rather snappish around the more frisky members of the group, protecting the victims before they were struck with compliments and showing their riders once and for all how well they could read other people's intentions with a mere glance. Forde, Sain, and Saul were quite distressed by the terrible duo, but made sure at least one got a special lady by coordinating all of their attempts simultaneously; there were only two wyverns, after all, and three men prowling about for at least one receptive lady. However, their combined wit allowed them to combat this, with each painfully swatting one with their muscular tails before promptly seeking out the last of the trio with earnest. Though they never quite got them to stop, they would at least be somewhere to run to if the attention of the said men proved to be intolerable by the women.

Heath kept Hyperion close, since the skittish wyvern or the knight that rode it could easily kill an ally that had simply caught them unawares. It was enough to make them fly off alone, since the combined noises that surrounded them and the fact that his former love had been present had been more than enough to convince the knight to leave. He knew he had to return or risk getting mistaken for the enemy, but also realized deep within his heart that he would have to confront both the past pleasures and pains if he ever saw his former lover's face again. He hated hurting her like he did… selflessly taking her like the treacherous bastard he knew he was, and then leaving her, just as she began to believe that the gesture meant that he had given both his body and soul to her, as she had done for him. Even more painful was the sight that kept on returning to him… the sight of the fair lady Priscilla, sobbing as he had left her at the border of Etruria. He couldn't face her again, and knew that would simply tear open old wounds if he confronted her about what he had done. The past was the past, but even then, he knew, deep within his heart, that she hadn't moved on. For even after eighteen years, she still remained without a wedding ring, and had apparently refused any and all suitors for her hand. It tore him apart, the way he knew she clung to his heart; for she had not even gone with Erk, who would have provided her with the title and wealth she deserved, rather than a vagabond deserter of Bern's army. And yet, she loved him, and not the violet-haired mage.

Vaida hadn't done much talking, with the exception of growling at Heath for his paranoia before his departure. Choosing to don her usual glare of anger and malice, she was one of the few had still until this day ignored the disgraceful way she had met her demise before her resurrection. Umbriel, remembering the sweet pages of knowledge that had been given to it long ago, immediately sought out Canas, ignoring the druid's futile cries of distress as the said wyvern tore through several volumes of ancient text to devour for supper. Distraught, but unable to do much about it, this was one of the rare occasions where Canas was glad that his son had the bad habit of copying text books onto spare parchment, word for word. His mother Niime had been almost assaulted by Louise and Pent, who were quite awed with her dark magic lineage and her prestige as the Hermit of the Mountain… It was so bad, in fact, that the poor old woman almost considered going back to said mountains, just to get away from her 'adoring fans'.

Gambling seemed to be all the rage around the campfire, where the Prince of Jehanna had set up a small, makeshift area to 'play'… laying out a mat to play cards on and inviting all to play his game against Lady Luck, the ruby-haired man awaited all challengers with a confident smirk. Joshua seemed to have a ball flipping coins and playing cards with the likes of Bartre, who was too stupid to quite get the concept quickly enough to avoid losing well over half of his war funds. However, an unexpected hero won back his money as the cleric Serra intervened; as if it were the will of Saint Elimine herself, she, like L'Arachel before her, promptly cleaned the now sulking gambler of his cash. Granted, he returned after he had acquired a few more coins from a gracious donor, but Joshua had become a much more careful gambler after that… and, like the troubadour, had ceased to play with Serra, who had simply pouted in retaliation. She, now completely bored, had run off to speak to said troubadour, and began a conversation that would spark the most deadly of alliances.

An almost earth-shattering groan of disdain rang through the camp as Erk, Rennac, and Rutger all winced at the high, shrieking voices of the two healers. The Ostian cleric of self-proclaimed royal lineage and the prissy princess of Rausten had joined forces to create a team dedicated to the eradication of evil and the upholding of the holy teachings… or, to put it bluntly, it was what the poor, violet-haired mage could only describe as his worst nightmare incarnate. To make matters worse, Clarine had joined in the conversation, thus resulting Pent and Louise's loud, spoiled, and rambunctious daughter to join in what a certain brunette sword master effectively entitled the Hellion Healers. To have one of their respective terrors was bad enough, but to have all three together was enough to probably make even the Archsage's patient mind explode with frustration. All three escorts had been rather fatigued and frustrated at the thought of keeping their charges quieter than a herd of shrieking wyverns, but seeing the three pampered girls unite left the men throwing their hands up in the air in genuine surrender. They didn't see why they had to go through with this, after all… it certainly wasn't what they had signed up for. In Rutger's case, he hadn't even _signed _anything, leaving him with the notion that perhaps he would have been better off if he had left the Etrurian troubadour in Erik of Laus's hands, after all. Priscilla and Ellen, quite taken aback by this spectacle of a cacophony personified, had politely declined invitations into the group when they had asked. Both were far too quiet and shy to not be uncomfortable around the others, and quite frankly did not bother to hide it.

Merlinus, completely embittered towards women ever since Vaida had decided to feed him mystery meat and effectively serve him hell on a platter, had not approved of this alliance, either. Upon trying to deny giving them healing staves for their noise level, however, said merchant had been bombarded by a screeching mass of the hellions, all of whom were firmly determined that they were sent on one divine mission or another. Giving the equipment to them just to shut the noisy women up, the younger merchant would have pulled out his hair, had he not valued its renewed growth so much. One never did appreciate what he had until he lost it, and such was the case with his hair.

It was odd to notice that Matthew had ceased to speak with Guy momentarily before moving to speak to first Chad, then Nino. Chad, as most people knew, was Matthew's bastard child… but no one had figured out who the mother of this thief's offspring was. Leila had been deceased at the time, and confounded the problem further. Had he not wanted to pledge his true love to her before she died? Certainly he had not given in to temptation so easily, let alone let the said accidental occurrence continue on for the nine months it took to create a new life…

Meanwhile, in the tactician's tent, situated in the center of the campgrounds, a certain group of royal lordlings had met to converse more important matters…

--

The tent was a humble ger, not unlike the settlement that Lyn had inhabited when she lived in the plains of Sacae. It was a simple, earth-shade tent made of the skins of the wild bucks their hunters had caught recently, and made for a rather cozy, insulated area. Its simple elegance was complimented by its lack of pricey adornments, making it a humble but nevertheless admirable work of art in and of itself. Situated in several cushions that lay about the room, Eliwood, Lyndis, Hector, Ephraim, and Eirika all reclined comfortably as they began to speak.

It was as if this arrangement was a futile attempt to make them feel at ease as they began to converse. Not bothering to beat around the bush, each of them had agreed to strike the heart of the matter as soon as the speaking commenced.

"…Bern's already struck Frelia, and appears to be moving towards Carcino. Renais has not been fully restored to its former glory yet, as Orson has just been removed from power there; that would make it an easy target for their wyvern riders, wouldn't it…" Ephraim muttered, more to himself than to the others. However, the unease seemed to spread like a plague about the room, leaving several of the lords fidgeting slightly before the speaking commenced again.

"It appears so. If it is as you say, I doubt that Renais would have an adequate army to hold of the might of the Bernian army. While I would like to say otherwise, they are a true force to be reckoned with, and had taken over two of our home countries, as well." Flinching and not catching his last statement in time, Eliwood flinched as the look of hurt was ill-hidden on Lyn's face. The Sacaean woman had regretted dying so soon the moment she found out about Bern's invasion, and this event served only to drive the stake of pain through her heart. Eirika looked a bit downcast as well, being more moved by loss than her brother, who had once professed to liking the combat involved in war more than he would have liked.

"…This is most discouraging. How would we fight such a massive army? I doubt that even Grado itself could turn a deaf ear to this, despite their military prowess." Keeping her grimace inside as she mentioned the name of Valter's country of origin, she nevertheless did not fake the look of genuine concern that spread over her features. Seth had drawn up the numbers for them, and the numbers of Bern's army were far too great for a makeshift army of perhaps a hundred soldiers to stand a chance against. They all seemed to have noticed this by now, and the feel of discomfort weighed all the heavier on them.

"I still cannot believe that this is Zephiel's doing… that little brat!" Hector slammed down his fist on the closest thing to him, jumping when he heard Eliwood's surprised yelp of pain. Shooting an apologetic look to his friend's temporary look of disdain, he continued to speak. "After we went through all that trouble saving him, too… We could have left him to the Fang, you know. It would have saved us from this little disaster."

"Hector, do recall that he didn't even know who we _were_ when we saved him, and that the queen would not have aided us if her son had died. How was he supposed to be grateful to a seemingly meaningless face? Do recall that he was far more suspicious than grateful to us." Eliwood grimaced, nursing his rather bruised thigh. Even after all these years, he had not lost his strength; it seemed that, for better or for worse, he would have to become accustomed to his great physical prowess again.

Smiling bleakly for a moment, Eirika's mind began to drift once again as she saw the two trade comments back and forth. They were like her and her brother, it seemed… getting into little scuffles, but never letting an argument escalate to the point of needless yelling or hitting. No, she had always admired her brother for that… his kind heart, his loving nature, and his compassion for others. Oh, but how she wished that he would dote more of that upon her in such times of internal strife, and not leave her alone to suffer in the darkness of her own foolish desires…

At this, a fiery pain began to sear her very heart, starting at her neck. The princess winced, closing her teal eyes as she desperately tried to will the pain away. Seemingly tearing at her very flesh, she was quite surprised to know that her skin had not caught ablaze, and even more so to know that she had hidden it well enough so that it appeared almost as if it never occurred.

…_Almost_ was the key word. One of the Lycian lords, having spotted her sudden but short-lived spasm of pain, had turned to look upon the teenage girl. Noticing something that had most definitely not been there before, Lyn felt oddly threatened by this sudden change in appearance. She couldn't place her finger on it, but something about the sudden glow that stood out on the girl seemed malevolent, and eerily familiar…

"Forgive me asking, but… that pendant… why is it glowing?" Lyn asked, pointing for a moment at the princess's neck. The lance, still covered by the ruby cloth, glowed brightly enough beneath its covering to show a silver silhouette of its form. From the outside, it looked to be a piece of ornate silver jewelry, but the princess herself knew much more than that. How she wished it were only a piece of metal, which could be taken off at will…

"Sister, since when have you taken to jewelry…?" Ephraim inquired, turning for a moment to look and do a double take at his sister's neck. Shaking his head, he continued, "And I've certainly never seen you wear such a piece before. May I see it?"

"What? I wear no jewelry besides the bracelet that father gave us…" She had tried so hard to mask her pain that she hadn't noticed the rather robust glow that the scar was now giving off. Looking down before gasping lightly, she put her hand to her neck. Pretending as if it were a piece of ornamental metal, she grasped at the material and simply smiled for a moment.

"Ah… it's nothing. Brother, Lady Lyndis, I assure you, there is nothing to be concerned about." Smiling to the best of her ability, she could sense the very distrust rising from the other lady. Only now had Eliwood and Hector truly noticed the small predicament, as the sun had been setting behind the tent's western face. The brightly glowing, burning scar seemed to stand out like a torch on a starless night, leaving her to get up, quickly excuse herself, and begin to leave. When her brother, concerned, grasped her hand, she began to cry out in what could only be described as a scream from the soul.

Her hand felt like it was going to erupt in boils, and if seemed as if the very fires of the underworld itself had come to consume her. Coursing through her veins quickly like a deadly poison, her very body began to betray her façade of indifference as she collapsed to the earth, unable to even muster the strength to hold herself upright. Her body quaked with the pain as she screamed, tears falling from her eyes as the curse seemed to glow with deadly vengeance. Unable to figure out the connection between his touch and her pain, Ephraim panicked, grabbing her shoulder to shake her.

"Eirika! Eirika, what's wrong? Answer me!" Losing his composure, he could barely stand to loosen his grip on her when he realized that his strong grip alone would hurt her, but still did not associate his contact with her skin to her afflicting pain. How was he to know, after all? She had told him nothing, spoken nothing of the incident, and Innes had only once spoken to him of Valter. It was too little information for him to piece together the reason as to why she could not bear to touch him, for in his mind, they were not at all related to each other. Nor did he know what this scar was, or why it glowed so brightly against her skin. He could not help but worry… his heart tugged at seeing her in pain, and would not allow him to let go when she might have needed him the most.

Having watched this entire time, it was Eliwood who made the association between the two, since her pain only began when he touched her hand, and worsened tenfold when the prince had grabbed her with both hands. Even at that, it was a half-baked idea, but would serve its purpose nonetheless. If it was a fruitless plan, then he would call in a healer all the faster. Lyndis had already disappeared, off to find a healer for the princess's ailment, and Hector had not made the same conclusion, leaving him to take the initiative.

"Ephraim! Release her! It is you who is causing her pain!" It took the force of both of the Elibean lords to dislodge Ephraim's hands from his sister's shoulder, but immediately after the contact ceased, she calmed. Her body stopped its painful convulsions, and the only residue of her pain was her harsh, labored breathing and the tears that still ran down her eyes. As the former Caelin marquess returned, she noted that the glow had subsided from the place where the pendant she thought she saw did not truly exist. Priscilla, carrying her to a small mat with the help of Ellen, immediately rushed her to the healer's tent. Unconscious by now from her pain but with her breathing still ragged, both of the healers allowed Duessel and Cormag to enter the tent to see the princess. Though normally not the most compassionate of members, each were dedicated to seeing the princess through this ordeal… Duessel looked over her mainly for the sake of Ephraim's nerves and sanity, while Cormag did so in his brother's stead.

Looking down upon her and seeing the glowing scar, both men's eyes immediately widened in recognition; for the Obsidian had held a weapon of the exact same design, and Cormag had wielded the cursed weapon a few times himself. Having conquered the beast within the weapon, neither man could fully understand why the cursed lance of the Obsidian's family now bore its mark upon the princess's neck. They know who did it, but did not know why he would choose to brand her with this sigil, above his own wyvern crest. Why had the beast marred her with the fangs of the lance that had cursed all but one who wielded it, rather than placing the mark of his own pride upon her breast, thus claiming her as his own?

Letting his concerned gaze fade, Duessel left the room to think of the events that had come to pass… and the man who had caused them in the first place.


	7. Chapter 6

(The lyrics to be shown are drastically changed translations to Suteki da Ne by Rikki. I'd have written it in Japanese, but it just didn't flow the same. Look up the lyrics if you want. As for the whole Valter thing, it's quite plot essential … And, well… Don't kill me. I hate Valter, too. But without him, there goes a good part of the story, so… o.o

Thank you to all my reviewers, especially those who have stuck around since Chapter 1. I'll start a review corner next chapter, if you guys want. I just wanted to keep the story less cluttered… unless you want replies to your reviews. Tell me what you want me to do, okay:D)

Ch. 6: Distress

Returning gratefully to the palace and pushing back his wavy, unkept hair, a man clad in black armor quickly slid off the saddle of his blue-scaled companion. Patting his mount's back as the wyvern stretched out its wings before reclining, the beast's rider nonchalantly tied a long rope to the reins and walking off, whistling merrily to himself. The gastly figure in his easily recognizable armor tossed his gemstone casually into the air as if was just a pebble, reflecting on the mission that had just concluded. He would treasure those moments… yes, he would. It was the best mission he'd had in the recent weeks he'd been promoted to a Gemstone General, and was extremely glad that Vigarde had finally gotten his mission tastes right.

Charged with the removal of opposing rebels in the southern reaches of Grado territory, Valter had been all too happy to accept the mission… even though he was doubtful that such a menial group of peasants could provide enough of a challenge to sate his bloodlust. Ah, but he had been wrong, much to his relief; the said rebels were deserters from the Grado army, and were well-trained in the art of combat. Well-trained or not, however, Valter's lance and airborne advantage had proved too much for his ground-based units… crushing them from swift dives from the skies before eventually allowing himself to fight on foot, he was satisfied with the blood that now coated his lance and armor. His lance arm was actually tired for once, with the muscles of his shoulder aching slightly from the length of the scuffle and the numerous number of strikes he had to take in order to fell their commander and slaughter his fleeing foes. And yet, he noticed, that hunger never really went away. It faded, yes, but the urge to kill never fully disappeared.

Looking down for a moment at his lance, he could only see one thing… a tool. Yes, weapons were tools, used to harvest enough of the crop of blood sown by war to finally stave the pains of insatiable bloodlust and the resulting sense of starvation. He thirsted for blood, craved for it with all his being… and yet, when he got it, he never got enough. It was enough to drive him mad… not that he cared. He truly had wanted to thank Duessel before he had become a turncoat… had it not been for the Obsidian's lance, where would this marvelous instinct to kill have come from? His skill with the lance had increased from his renewed vigor to study the killing arts, and now he had finally begun to sow his seed of death and bloodshed across the land.

The only thing that had ever rivaled his thirst for blood was the insatiable desire for a woman's touch… a thirst that, like the first, he knew he would never be able to fully satisfy. Over time, he had claimed countless, albeit temporary lovers with his title; there had been many women who swooned at the chance to be with one of the mythical Gemstone generals for his wealth, but never for appearance. Oftentimes, they gave him gifts, invited him to banquets, and many came to him for little… pleasurable sessions… to try to inspire him to give them a profitable marriage offer.

Unfortunately for them, none of them ever got what they wished for.

Ah, how he had relished the feeling of it… the façade of a loving touch as the women's arms had encircled his body, the caresses that he had felt from them, and the sweet taste of their lips. He cherished every moan his touch elicited, and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers running over their vulnerable necks… How he loved to see the horror in their eyes, to see their lovely ruby blood running down the beautiful stretch of flawless ivory skin as he slit their throats with a crystal dagger, letting the blood trickle down their flesh while he simultaneously relished their bodies and death cries. Their time of faked passion had degraded to a time of utmost terror as they choked on their own blood, with the bodies that he had formerly littered with kisses dying from the very blood that he so savored. It was always like a sacred ritual to him; the taking of what he wanted from the one who never wanted him, then giving her the gift that he loved most to give… death, with the crimson liquid that normally granted life.

Smirking to himself, he paused his whistling, electing to go for humming instead. It was so much closer to the words he wish he could say to the one they were intended for… Ah, but he would find her again. She was a wild beast, and had denied his every advance, rather than rushing towards his title… he always loved a little spirit in his lovers, and she was a rare diamond in the rough. Her blood must be brilliant, her spirit shone so bright…

_The princess, her smiling face a gentle illusion_

_Her spirit, broken and failing, like tears unable to be hidden. _

_Isn't it beautiful, the way I tame your spirit, _

_I do so wish to hear_

_The sound of your pleasure, your pain, your anger._

_Her eyes, a shaking window to an unsteady soul_

_Her heart, loosing gentle tears into an overflowing stream_

_Isn't it wonderful, the way I'll feel your hands on mine,_

_I wish to feel…_

_Your flesh, your body, your blood._

_Your face, your soft skin…_

_Dissolving into scarlet…_

_Descending into an everlasting dream…_

Smiling once again as he entered the palace, he made sure to give the pendant he held in his pocket a quick squeeze before moving inside. It would at least make sure that he didn't leave the confines of her mind… at least until the pain subsided from her body. Oh, how desperately he wanted to break her spirit… and the pact he had made would ensure that he would get his wish. Approaching the man who carried a crystal article of jewelry and stood in regal robes before Prince Lyon, Valter had the decency to bow deeply before the man and the dark druid beside him before speaking in as respectful a tone as he could manage.

"Welcome to Castle Grado… Zephiel, King of Bern."

-----------

Zephiel had been a long time in coming; having taken the quickest route through Grado, Bern's armies had encountered many a group of ruffians who had wanted nothing more than to see them out of their lands. One after another, the army made sure that the native populations were put in their place… though some still continued to resist. He remembered, vaguely, the northern village that had rested in the mountains… and how earnestly they had wanted him to leave. They came at him with everything they had; pitchforks, weak magic, and even the occasional kitchen utensil or training weapon was brought up against his mighty armies. He decimated that small population with nary a struggle, but could still remember the eerily haunting look the village elder had in her eyes just before she died. They weren't judgmental, but almost sorrowful, and carried with them the silent promise of retribution.

The very thought still chilled him to the bone, even with the comforting power of Idoun beside him. Though her power was enormous, he knew that she would never be able to truly comfort him with words and emotions… for she held none inside. She was a broken woman, one who would sooner defy her master outright than show signs of love, joy, or devotion. A mere vessel for power is what others viewed her as, but Zephiel saw her for what she truly was; a perfect being, created for the sole purpose of purging the world of humankind. The era for men was over… it was time for the dragons to take hold of the realm that was rightfully theirs once again.

Looking down at the man who bowed at him with a gaze that could shatter glass, Zephiel returned to the task at hand. Carefully holding the crystal tiara that Lyon had given him, he placed it on Idoun's lavender-haired head with gentleness that none in the room thought him to be capable of. Though the thin-framed girl did not smile, she did appear extravagant with it on, nonetheless. Wrapping around her head in a delicate web of silver and diamonds, Lyon's gift had indeed pleased the girl's master… for now she looked to be a queen, fit to rule her own realm with calm supremacy and glory. Looking up with her bi-colored eyes, Idoun spoke.

"Thank you, master." Those three words were enough to please Bern's blonde ruler, and, though her tone was anything but enthusiastic, Lyon and Nergal could each confirm her sincerity. It seemed that was the only emotion she could reveal with her monotone but silky voice… sincerity. She conveyed no joy, no hatred, no wrath… simply obedience and sincerity. Smiling ever so slightly at her reaction, Zephiel turned to the other two men, pushing back the violet silk of his sleeves slightly before beginning to place his thoughts into words. He knew he had to choose his words carefully… he wanted allies in this war for conquest, not new foes.

"Emperor Lyon of Grado and Nergal, Dark Druid of the Isles… Why is it you have called me here? What is it you wish to ask of me?" Well aware that Idoun was adequate protection against any attacks that either of the two magic casters could perform on short notice, Zephiel nevertheless let his grip shift slightly on the staff that he held in his hand. Encased within the seemingly harmless tool of regality was a weapon… a blade that had served him well many times in the past. Brenya, one of his most faithful followers, remained just outside the room, ready to rush in and protect Zephiel or the Dark Priestess at any given time.

"I have called you here… on behalf of…" The orchid-haired emperor paused, clutching his chest as he struggled to continue. His voice seemed to be strangled by some unseen force, his will beginning to smother beneath something that no one could fathom as he began to groan in pain, shuddering as he reached both hands to almost grip his heart. While Zephiel neither saw nor cared for the reason behind this attack, dismissing it for something physically wrong within the prince's frail body, but Nergal could see the dark tendrils he had sensed within his first conversation with the boy. Watching them as they seethed and broiled before completely consuming his body, all that could normally be seen by someone who was not familiar with the elder magics was the prince's physical state of stress and pain. Once they dissipated, however, Lyon paused, standing up as if none of the pain had come to pass. The darkness now fully enveloped his body and spirit; it seemed to Nergal that the strings of a demonic marionette were holding the teen's body under its full control.

"There. That's better. Rest now, Lyon." Chuckling slightly, the now deeper, hoarse voice of the Demon King took over the prince's smooth and calm voice. Zephiel, while surprised by his amazing sense of control over a host body, made no attempt to show it through his face or actions. Rather, he allowed him to continue, standing silent and vigil over his priestess.

"I've called you all here for the resurrection of the demonic forces of lore… the demons and dragonkin… the annihilation of the race that plagues this land… Is that not what you two wish? I require your strength to obtain what we each desire… Energy, liberation, and the return of my kin." Looking to peer at each of them from beneath his orchid bangs, he noted Nergal's slight nod and Zephiel's look of approval at his words. "Already, something has gone awry… you've seen it, haven't you? That other presence wasn't supposed to have awakened with our worlds, and yet it seems to have been beneficial; our plans may not have worked without Nergal's return. We must not let another mishap occur again, whether it be for better or for worse…Surely you each remember the contracts forged between us; the agreements made in blood. May stay united for a common cause, and bring back supremacy to a land that no longer needs the melancholy presence of the tainted race."

"And what of the quintessence? Surely you will not let that go to waste…" Looking over to see the brilliant emerald webs of quintessence that soared and pulsated in amazingly high levels around the Demon King, he could feel his thirst for the energy return in gusto. Realizing that his power was not at its highest potential, however, he chose to push down the hunger, remaining as civilized and formal as he could manage. No matter how much quintessence this demonic presence may have had, he could guess that the entire world's population would provide more than enough of the life-giving energy to surpass that of the man who stood before him.

"And what of us after this war? We do require your help, but at what cost…?" Zephiel looked to Idoun before returning his gaze to the former emperor of Grado… if he was to hurt his priestess, his key to liberating the Dragons' rightful birthright from the human race, he would immediately leave, never to seek out help from this man again. He could do it himself if he wanted, but help that was so readily available made him both tempted and suspicious… suspicious of motives, costs, and results.

"You do recall what each of you must do… and remember; if you succeed, Nergal shall inherit the quintessence of the world's entire human population, while you, Zephiel, may do as you wish after the conflict is over. Though I cannot guarantee supremacy over the lands that are liberated, I will say that your help within this will be written in the dragons' lore for ages to come…" The lord of the demons that ravaged the land held out his hand, and smiled as each of them shook it, one after the other. One after another, each proclaimed their goals before all went their separate ways…

"The land will return to the dragons!"

"I will free the land, as it is my Master's will…"

"My morphs shall live again!"

"Let the land be covered in darkness…"

----------

It was nightfall in the camp of the Elibean and Magvelian army, with most of the campgrounds remaining eerily silent as the veil of darkness descended over them. Sleep had been the first priority for both sides, and showed for everyone save for those who stood watch. Kent stood vigil by the western wing of camp with Fiora, who had insisted on staying awake with him; Treck and Noah watched the southern reaches, Seth made sure to stay near the east, where the healing tent remained with his nation's princess still inside, and to the north was Rei, who had wanted to become more in tune with the darkness around him. Sophia had accompanied him, interested in his safety during the late hours of the night. In this impregnable darkness, it was all about surprise; if a druid such as Rei was to be ambushed in the middle of the night, he would need someone guarding his back… after all, magic crafters such as themselves were not exactly famed for their defensive prowess.

A soft scraping noise could be heard at the eastern reaches of the camp, where one of the lords had insisted upon staying awake to stand vigil with the rest of the volunteers. Running a whetstone over her blade, the Sacaean woman let the events of the past settle in her mind, sorting out truth from fiction as quickly as she could. Had she really died? Had her body once decayed into nothing but a ghastly skeleton, not unlike the Bonewalkers she had come to see in her patrols around camp? Staring down at her hands, she could not bring herself to believe the truth… but Sue herself had confirmed it, along with her husband.

Death was viewed as the reuniting with Mother Earth and Father Sky, in the eyes of the Sacaean people. And yet, had her lore been true, why did she not remember any of the afterlife? Was there nowhere to go after death? If so, how could she have returned? Questions plagued her restless mind, and with it came confusion and frustration. Angered by her loss for answers, she stood up, turning around to swing the now sharpened Mani Katti in an arc as her body turned, seeing if the blade had withstood the test of time… and, just as in the days of the Second Scouring, it sliced through the air swiftly and smoothly. What she didn't expect, however, was the contact it had made halfway through its flight.

After the hellish shrieks that had rocked the camp had fully registered in her stunned mind, Lyn looked astonishingly at the strange creature she had just struck, and was rather surprised she hadn't heard it sooner. How could a beast that much larger than herself have snuck up on her so silently…?

------

The northern area of camp was a rather desolate area, littered with the rocky crag edges that overlooked much of the lower-elevation areas around them. It was here, atop the highest point in Border Mulan that they had been posted… a place that required a bit of climbing to reach, but provided the sentries with a view unrivaled by any other position in the vicinity. While one pair of eyes nervously surveyed the darkness for foes, as she was supposed to do, the other pair had made do with focusing on random inanimate objects as the soft chanting of a spell filled the night air.

"Rei…" Sophia said softly, watching Rei casting his strange brand of magic against stationary objects. She was genuinely concerned about the strange chill she had felt coming from near the campgrounds, and was absolutely sure it had not been from the wind. She couldn't see the cause of the dangerous premonition… though that was to be expected, since it had originated from behind them. Their post was just at the edge of the forest, which was too dark for most to truly see into… it had been a miracle they had traversed it properly in the first place, and it was certainly good of them to have periodically placed markers throughout the dense wood to guide them back to the others when their tour of duty was over. The younger of the two paused in his casting, turning to her with a look of confusion and concern.

"What is it, Sophia? Something wrong?" Knowing by now that the half-mamkute never took well to guard duty, he had been fully prepared to offer any reassurances necessary to keep her calm and safe tonight. He hadn't wanted her to scare herself by coming to stay with him during sentry duty, but he knew that he didn't exactly want her to leave, either. It was a selfish decision on his part, he knew, but what could he do? Lugh would have given him hell about it if he hadn't kept watch over her… even more so, since he seemed to know his every thought and whim. It was one of the downsides to being magical twins… being more in tune with the elements and the shadows, each had learned to read the other in a different light while making sure that neither of them was in the dark.

"I… It's nothing." She sighed, shaking her head. She had always been anxious around this sort of thing, and didn't quite know what possessed Rei to volunteer for this sort of duty. The chill had lessened, but not dissipated, meaning that; at least for the time being, the danger had passed them by. Smiling softly before replacing said smile with an inquisitive look, she pointed to his book. "I've… I've never heard anyone cast that spell before. What is it?"

"Oh, this?" He said confidently, smirking as he smoothed back his emerald hair. "It's a new thing I'm trying. Lugh and I study different types of magic; what would happen if we threw the incantations of two spells together? It oughta be good… unless it goes and blows us up or something. …H-Hey, I'm just kidding! Don't look at me like that." Noticing her look of concern and worry at his mention of things going awry, he quickly waved his hands a bit to ease her fears. This did nothing to lower her anxiety at what could go wrong, but his confidence in a positive outcome did some good in lessening her dread a little.

"Ah… All right. I'm sorry." She said, only to have Rei slap his palm against his forehead in response. Pausing for a moment, as it was a gesture not seen frequently in Arcadia, she awaited an explanation.

"Augh… didn't I tell you that wasn't necessary? To apologize, I mean." Quickly adding the last part to make sure she didn't say it again, he smiled slightly at the blush that crept over her face. He'd always found that shyness of hers absolutely endearing… though he'd certainly never tell her that. After all, Lugh had teased him senseless about his liking of her, and if he found out about this… he'd never hear the end of it.

"All… all right." Smiling at him, she noted that he smiled back…. A truly rare occurrence, to be sure. Resisting the urge to widen her eyes in shock, for she had seen more dramatic things before (not many, though…), she let that smile stay on her face. It had been so long since she'd had the opportunity to truly smile, and it certainly felt wonderful after being absent from her features for so long.

But all that was cut off as the cold chill returned, and something screamed at her to come to someone's aid… Rushing to leave, she saw Rei's befuddled face… and read the guilt on his face that clearly told her that he thought he had done something wrong. Shaking her head, she quickly yelled her news as she ran towards the center of camp.

"Rei! Come at once! Lady Lyndis is in danger!"

---------------------

"…Third sector… clear." On the southern side of camp, silence abounded far more than the soft words that were spoken as one of the two cavaliers stood vigil at his post, sitting proudly astride his gelding as he kept still, almost like a statue in his diligent stance. The other, on the other hand, had just returned, smirking a bit at the prospect of a clear and undisturbed night. Brushing a few brambles off his armor and from his dark hair, the Ilian cavalier made do with his current condition, so long as his ride through the burrs and thorns proved beneficial to the army as a whole.

Giving the area one last look around, Noah searched the perimeter of their assigned area dutifully before, finally content that no one had invaded their premises, smiled and returned to the man who had remained at the original station. Pushing back a bit of his tussled black hair with a sigh of content, he allowed himself one yawn before turning to his partner, Treck. The sandy blonde was seated gallantly astride his chestnut gelding, his head positioned forward and held high, and it would look to most as if he was standing guard as dutifully as his fellow knight… unfortunately for him, Noah did not apply for 'most'. He, too, was an Ilian cavalier, and his past experiences with Treck let him know quite well what was truly the case.

Dismounting and moving around to the front of Treck's horse, he smirked at the sight of his friend, his eyes closed and his breathing steady even on horseback. Indeed, as he had suspected, his friend had been fast asleep… it figured that he didn't take that much seriousness in sentry duty. Then again, it was his overly passive nature and his indifference towards the task that had gotten him assigned to this duty, anyway, so perhaps it was to be expected that he would find himself in this scenario. Noah could only thank the gods that he'd volunteered, as well; otherwise, his friend would have certainly left quite the open spot for fiends to slip through. Sighing before moving beside his friend's horse, which was sleeping peacefully even while standing, he slapped its rear, causing both horse and rider to wake with a start.

Quickly spilling the rider from his saddle by rearing up in shock, Treck's gelding marched off for a moment before returning, pressing his muzzle to his rider's neck in concern. Now fully awake(or as awake as he'd care to be) and with his horse's head so close, Treck was quite disgruntled when he got up… or, at least, as disgruntled as he could be without expending too much energy. Giving Noah nothing but a sleepy look as retribution, he simply yawned again before speaking in his usual tired but nevertheless laid back tone. His blue armor had been scuffed up a bit from the fall, but he couldn't have cared less.

"Now, what'd you go and do that for?" Opening his mouth wide and yawning while not truly caring about the current circumstances concerning guard duty, he leisurely weighed his options… would he opt to get up and into the saddle in case of an enemy attack, to better fight the valiant fight against any possible assailants… or sleep right where he was on the uncomfortable but nonetheless supportive bed of hard-packed dirt beneath him?

That wasn't even a question he had to ask himself.

"Not that you'd care, right Treck? …Treck?" Noah joked, expecting at least a weak laugh in return. Not completely at a loss for why he hadn't answered, he also noted that Treck's gelding had wandered off yet again… and this time, just as the last, with no rider astride his back. Looking down on the ground, Noah could do nothing but sigh as he saw his fellow Ilian knight, fast asleep on the ground. Ah, wouldn't Zealot have a thing or two to say about that, had he been around to see that…

"Well, I'm glad to see you're enjoying yourself. Actually, I'm kinda glad you're asleep…" Walking over to him before waving his hand in front of his face, Noah smirked at the lack of response. Some things that he truly needed to get off his chest were best said to unhearing ears, after all…

"Ah, Treck… you've seen her, haven't you? That girl that I helped out at the arena a few weeks ago. She's a cute one, isn't she? Naive, too… but that's probably what makes her so charming. Do you think it would work out between us, Treck? Do you like that sort of girl?" Smiling a bit, he was rather shocked upon hearing a grumbled response.

"I… I like…" Almost fearful that Treck had indeed woken up halfway through his confession, Noah quickly bantered in his mind whether or not to hit his friend and hope to give him a temporary case of amnesia, lest he accidentally leak out the information to Fir. It had happened once before, when he was but a squire, and he had fallen for a rather cute Pegasus knight… Luriah, he recalled… it was just a shame that she didn't exactly share his feelings, and even more of a shame that it had been Treck who had leaked it out in passing, thinking that it didn't matter what she thought of the news.

Elimine forbid if that should happen again.

"I… like Celeste… yup. She's cute… hehe…." Smiling as he mumbled in his sleep, Treck turned over, apparently dreaming of home again. It was nice, to have something to look back on… even if it was a past love that hadn't been entirely successful. Why, he had even fallen asleep on their first date…

Though he resisted the urge to chuckle, at that thought, a more urgent stimulus came into play as a high-pitched shriek quickly alerted his ears… but, despite its hellish proportions and its almost deafening volume, the cacophony still failed to awaken his partner. Shaking him awake and almost throwing him on his horse with the urgency of the situation, Noah began to ride off, only yelling to let Treck know of the plight.

"Someone's being attacked! Let us ride, Treck!" To this, he was replied to only with a groan… not one of disdain, perhaps, but one that implied, 'Aw, do I have to?'

"Meh, all right… I'm coming, I'm coming…"

------------------

Lyndis, who had not noticed the rune that had appeared behind her in her musings, had no idea where the massive beast had come from… nor did she particularly care, at the moment. The sight of the arthropod behemoth was more than enough to occupy her attention to the point where such information was completely irrelevant.

Four golden eyes gleamed in a semi-circle below one larger red one, with the fiend capturing her in its fierce glare before loudly clicking its mandibles together in anger. Its fiendish face was tipped at the lowest point with the two, seemingly shortened front legs, but a closer look deemed them to be creature's mandibles, which were sharp enough to sunder flesh and were tipped with poison. A strange, dark green liquid seeped from the creature's front legs, where she had effectively severed them halfway through the closest joint. The pointed claws that tipped both of its front limbs lay discarded on the ground, twitching slightly even in death. The creature itself continued to move, however, circling around the woman with its remaining legs carrying it at a speed she almost could not deem possible for such a large arachnid. The gray exoskeleton had been cut easily with the Mani Katti, but appeared to be slightly thicker around its head. The lord could not tell whether or not the flesh of its back was able to be torn asunder so easily, since the orange, hair like protrusions on its abdomen made for a rather thick cover for the exoskeleton.

Frozen momentarily in shock, she could barely get her legs to move in time to avoid its first strike; since its front legs were gone, it had settled for charging in, fangs bared to strike. It was a clumsy leap backward at best, and left much to be desired in terms of balance as she struggled to maintain her footing on the rock-encrusted ground. Gripping the hilt of the Mani Katti as she found a fixture in the rocks, she braced herself as the spider wheeled around to strike again. Raising its now vestigial front legs, it swung them down towards her head, leaving her to swipe at them to prevent the force behind their swift blows from contacting with her skull.

What she had forgotten to guard against were the fangs that drove into her arm, sending a blinding pain rushing through her sword arm as she cried out in pain, effectively alerting the other sentries to her aid. A rune of dark magic, rendered almost invisible in the veil of darkness, formed beneath the Bael's fuzzy abdomen, with the beast suddenly shrieking in pain and confusion as the elder magic began to burn it from below. It had seen none of the strange, book-carrying humans, and had most definitely had not given the human woman in its fangs the opportunity to attack…

Javelins and spears flew through the air, filling the air with the sickening snapping and cracking of the arachnid's exoskeleton as the weapons pierced its body before the beast shrieked once more and fell to the earth. Keeping its fangs imbedded in her arm, it presented a rather unusual plight… if she resisted the fall, its mandibles would surely tear apart her muscles and render her useless in combat. Rather than lose the majority of her arm to its dying breath, Lyn allowed herself to fall with it, despite the pain that moving now caused her body. As her body connected with the earth, she winced, feeling the shock of the impact rattle her nerves and light her wound ablaze with newfound pain.

"Well, what do you know; it worked! Well, not the way it was supposed to, but…" Rei smirked at his newfound success before, realizing that Lyndis was indeed hurt and not just exhausted, ran to her aid. However, Sophia had gotten to her first, and had already begun to heal the lord's wounds with a staff she had carried with her in case of emergencies.

"…Now, that wasn't so bad…" Pulling out his javelin from the creature's tough exoskeleton, Treck stared at the goo that now encased his trusty lance before shrugging and pulling out a rag to clean it. Simply running the cloth once over it seemed to be enough for him, even though he could see his partner do the same several times before he was content with its cleanliness. He personally couldn't care less; a lance was a lance, and, grungy or not, it could always be counted on to get the job done.

"You are not harmed, Lady Lyndis?" Though Lyn resisted the urge to scowl at Seth for addressing her so formally (until now, only Kent still addressed her by that name.), she nevertheless smiled and held up her healed arm. Confident of her safety, he pulled the weapon from the collapsing corpse before turning to ride back to his post. He needed to keep Renais's princess safe at all costs, and it appeared that Caelin's former marquess did not require any additional aid. As such, he saw no reason to stay… Not to mention that the emerald hair druid's new brand of magic made him quite nervous and wary of the possible consequences of such magic usage.

"Lady Lyndis! Are you all right?" Kent rushed to his lady's side, while Fiora collected their weapons before moving to examine the extent of Lyn's injury. Seeing that Sophia had already adequately cared for the wound, as the glowing blue light from the staff had sealed her flesh back together after the antitoxin she carried with her had purified the poisons, both Fiora and Kent silently praised Saint Elimine for having such a girl handy for sentry duty. What Lyn hadn't failed to notice, looking up at the pair, was that both Kent and Fiora's faces were flushed, and their hair was in quite the disheveled state. Obviously they had thoroughly scoured the area for enemies before commencing with such… activities… but it shocked the lord to see them both discard their duty so quickly in favor of love that had been lost from the Pegasus knight's illness. She noted happily that neither of them had shown any signs of disrobing, so she didn't feel quite so guilty in knowing that she hadn't deprived them of marriage's given right.

Rei was still guffawing confidently about his skills in what he now called 'Fusion Magic', with Sophia gently shaking her head. When she asked him to replicate the spell to see if it was truly reliable, he had confidently repeated the incantation and hand motions… only to result in him layering his hands in magic-induced burns as the spell went awry. After healing him and sitting through his groans and protests against touching the wounds with the staff, the young priestess could have sworn she saw something… odd. Ignoring the young druid beside her, she moved to the spot behind the stump that Lyn had sharpened her sword upon…

"Look… is this where the creature originated from? This brand… it is not of the druids. Someone must know some sort of summoning magic…" Gathering around the young druid to see, each of the witnesses paused, studying the crest to the best of their ability. Sure enough, she found the summoning rune, burned into the ground in the sigil of a being she did not recognize. Turning to look at them, her violet eyes were filled with a silent apology as she revealed without words through a shaking of her head that she could not comprehend its meaning.

Realizing that this place was not immune from the attacks of forces whose strength they could not measure without more knowledge, Lyn stood up, sheathed her sword, and sighed.

"We are no longer safe here. Awaken the leaders of Frelia, Rausten, Ostia, Pherae, and Renais. We move out as soon as possible."


	8. Chapter 7

((A little shameless character introduction here, I know, but it's for the greater good. Actually, I need all you reviewers to tell me this... I have a lemon planned for the future. Shall I post it here, and bump up the rating, or post it on keep the rating the same, and post it so that you only have to read it if you want to? o.o'' Meh, whatever. :p

Thanks to all my reviewers! And, without further ado...))

Ch. 7: Departure

_Dear… Diary…_

_Is this how Fa is supposed to write? Fa's handwriting is bad, but Fa will get better. Fa doesn't know what we're doing… but it looks like we're going to go again. Where are we going to go? Fa doesn't know… but at least Fa will get to see more of the outside world. It's very pretty. _

…_Now Roy says that we go to Frelia. What is 'Frelia'? Fa doesn't know… it sounds like funny food, though. Maybe you can see it… Can Diary see the outside world? Fa hasn't seen it very much, compared to others, but… Fa will see more. Fa doesn't want to be a bad dragon, though, so Fa will have to ask Igraine first._

…_No, Igrene's kinda grumpy… Fa knows! Fa will ask Roy. And Fa will go grab some yummy fruit for Mr. Diary. Bai, bai!_

_-Fa_

The campgrounds were instantly embroiled in groans of disdain and exhaustion as the now very large army gathered up their equipment and took down their tents, with each getting ready to leave as sleep dragged heavily in their eyes. Fa and Myrrh seemed to be the only ones immune to this harsh cycle of sleeping and waking… and, with their small stature, it was also not a surprise that their respective tent mates had to fold up the tents themselves. Fa had almost gotten lost in all the folds of cloth, with only her mutters of, "Fa is lost!" alerting Igrene of the precious cargo that had almost been tied up with the rest of the tent. Had the poor girl been thrown in Merlinus's wagon with the rest of the supplies, who knows what the poor little mamkute would have done… but she doubted very much that the caravan would still have been intact after an endeavor like that.

The poor woman couldn't tell for the life of her why the little mamkute had gone off to swipe a fig from Merlinus's cart, but didn't think twice before reprimanding her for ruining the pages of what looked to be quite the ornate diary.

Hawkeye had tied up Myrrh's tent before placing it in the wagon, since her tent mate Ellen was also too weak to quickly and effectively tie it up single-handedly. Those who had already completed their tasks had gone around to help the others, though Hugh, Farina, and Rennac had each charged a hefty sum for their services. Not surprisingly, these three were very well left alone as the others continued packing their things. Extra weapons were handed out in case of emergency, and the lords had already begun to pair up the units for the journey ahead. They planned a march to the Frelian capital to regroup, where they would then move as circumstances saw fit.

Eliwood sought council with Lyn, Hector, Innes, and Ephraim regarding the choice to leave, and found that he, too, found it to be for the best. Eirika was still unconscious, and L'Arachel had violently disagreed regarding their decision to move camp, insisting that they should stay and fight the beasts of evil with the power of righteousness. Needless to say, she was quickly overpowered by the almost-unanimous decision to leave in favor of conserving their resources, and was quite disgruntled about the arrangement. Volunteering to travel in the back when they began their march, L'Arachel had been granted the 'privilege' of guarding their backs against any monsters that might have otherwise caught them unawares.

However… as the rest of the army had been packing their respective items of interest, two of their number had gone off alone to seek a little bit of time to speak privately, with the one pulling the other away ignoring her spouse as she left.

Urgency and dread filled the air around the pair as a certain Ostian thief was pulled aside by the little green haired mage from Bern…

-----

Brushing back the dark magenta locks that brushed before her eyes, a woman lay in wait, staring in an almost predatory fashion at two lone bandits as she lay in complete silence. Normally, she'd never stoop so low as to spy on the likes of common street urchins turned warriors, but this was different. The circumstances were different, her employer was different… rather than serving under a Marquess, she now served unwillingly beneath the iron hand of a force she could not even consider defying. She had seen his power firsthand, and did not intend to join the ranks of those he had killed in cold blood. So now, she had no choice but to seek out the strong, and hope they were enough for her temporary master's thirst for power.

Having left her country of origin in favor of the bandit-ridden lands of Magvel, she had found herself faced with the most advantageous of scenarios as luck smiled upon her near Frelia's border.

Two men, each rippling with muscles as they hoisted their axes on to their shoulders, chatted to each other beneath her perch, feeling particularly strong while in the cover of the darkness. Each man had forged his own name in the darkness, had claimed countless lives and many gold pieces by sneaking about in this covering veil. Each man held a burlap sack, with the first man holding a bottle of wine in his while the other seemed to be carrying only currency with him. Turning to each other, the first spoke, chuckling a bit as he did.

"Eh, it ain't so bad, is it, Batta? The recent events, I mean." The first one smirked, slapping the second on the back. He responded in turn with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders, dismissing the rather painful gesture it as nothing special as he replied in turn.

"What, coming back to life and all? Damas, you know better than to ask me a stupid question like that. After that plains wench cut me in two, I thought I'd never see another burning village to loot again. Ah, it's good to be back in the business." Laughing heartily as the other joined him, the woman saw her chance to strike. Each man was overconfident, drunk on their own recent victory in a small village bordering the Border Mulan… and each was just as foolish to have put their axes in such a position as to render their defenses utterly nil.

"Yeah, you're right. 'Ere, I got some wine from the poor sap we ransacked. Let's drink to victor--… Batta!" It took Damas's slower mind a few moments to figure out what had just occurred as, with a groan of pain, Batta fell to the earth and was no more.

Having falling from her seat in the branches of a tree, all it had taken was the simple of pointing her daggers downward and letting gravity drive the blades to fell Batta the Beast. Having driven her knives to the hilt into the spine of the bulky, overconfident brigand, he stood no chance of survival as the stunned man could only gasp in shock before falling, just as he had all those years ago. Unlike his first and last encounter with Lyndis, he was not even offered the chance to speak one last time before death had enveloped him in its cold embrace once again. Damas, too shocked to truly fight back against the deadly woman, could only play defensively as she struck at him time and time again with her daggers outstretched.

Knowing it was she who would eventually tire first, Damas continued his tactic, watching as her pattern of flurried strikes against his mighty axe. After a few minutes, the girl's strikes slowed down momentarily, and left her left side quite vulnerable to a strike with his mightier weapon. Seeing this as a weak point in her offense, the man let a grin cross his face before, letting his defense drop momentarily in favor of offense, he swung his axe in an arc to strike the woman. He smiled as a thin spray of blood coated the air, but then realized that something was amiss when a blazing pain erupted in his abdomen.

The slowing strikes were but a ruse concocted by this silent killer, which clearly showed through the daggers that now lay buried within his abdomen. Blood seeped past her blades, but even more appealing to her was the slow but steady stream of emerald energy that erupted from his body. Unfortunately, the said flow stopped relatively quickly, leaving her to get up and move to the other corpse to harvest his energy, as well. However, to her dismay, he held with him less quintessence than the first. This just wouldn't do… how would she acquire enough in her set period of time to win her freedom from the blackheart who had supposedly slain Elbert?

Leila wiped the daggers on her side, sheathed them, and moved off to the more heavily forested areas around Border Mulan. She could hear hushed voices whispering, and could only hope they were more hapless victims that could help her win her freedom… smirking, she rushed there as quickly and quietly as they could, making sure she was virtually undetectable in the night.

----------

Once they had safely made it away from the rest of the troops, the sandy blonde thief could only look with fear and dread at the small and clearly distressed mage before him. It appeared that the girl had done all she could to prevent herself from breaking into a wave of tears before him, and he knew very well why. And yet… it was a tense few seconds that seemed like an eternity to them before she began to speak.

"M…Matthew… I… I…" Losing her reserve and beginning to lightly sob, Matthew reached out to lightly embrace her for support. However, the mage backed away slightly, shaking her head violently in response to his approach. She needed to be by herself for a few seconds… but she still needed someone to listen to her, to hear her out. Reading her easily, Matthew backed off, allowing her to speak again. "I… I don't know what to do… I'm… I'm so confused, Matthew!"

"Nino…" Hearing a rustle in the trees but dismissing it as a harmless animal, Matthew returned his attention towards her. She had gone through so much… and he felt so guilty for having put her through the vast majority of it. He could find no words to ease her pain, and yet found that silence hurt her almost as much as insincerity would. Wincing at the pain he knew she was going through, he asked slowly, "What… what do you want me to say, Nino?"

He could not feel the pair of suspicious and jealous eyes that were pointed at the emerald-haired mage as she made her response. How could he have known, after all, that his former lover now looked upon the girl with utmost scorn and suspicion? He had disregarded her presence once before, and it had been her death… would he do it again, but this time to her heart? Would he tear her apart, or would he profess that he cared for no one but her?

"Tell me what to do! I… I… he came back, Matthew! Don't you understand! He came back! After he left… he… he said he never truly left me, but… _I_ _died looking for him, Matthew!_" Completely losing her composure, she let the tears flow freely down her cheeks now. The pain was as real as it was when the man she loved had left her, all those years ago, and old wounds had been painfully torn open once again just as they had healed. Now allowing him to embrace her, she shuddered from the tears as she sobbed quietly into his cloak.

"I… I know. But… what about Chad? What about _us_?" He didn't mean to make the scenario any worse than it already was, but it was a topic that needed to be addressed. All those years ago… she had turned to him when Jaffar left her. He had comforted her, told her of his pain when his own love had left him; at first, it became a tragic story of comforting support changing over time to become love, but as the years passed by… it had seemed as if the whole world had turned against them.

"I don't know! He's my husband, Matthew! I am bound to marriage by law … what am I supposed to do?" She choked out these words as sobs overtook her… past crimes returned to her mind in full force, and the guilt behind them also barraged her conscience. Holding her closer than ever, he whispered words similar to those he had whispered so long ago as he reminisced on events past…

"I'm sorry. I knew in my heart that it was wrong, but… even though you were his… I love you, Nino."

He never heard the rustle of the trees or the soft cry of shock and pain as the former Ostian spy left, her heart brutally torn asunder by those four last words.

-Flashback-

Tears had been streaming down her face then, too, as she had sat dumbfounded at the local Ostian pub that lay not ten minutes away from the castle where she knew Hector inhabited. She didn't care that well over half of the men in the bar leered at her now fully developed seventeen-year-old body, nor did she care that her sons had been left at home. She had hired a babysitter to care for her one-year-old twin sons, Lugh and Rei, and now saw no reason why she shouldn't have at least an afternoon to herself. Her children were too young to understand that their father had left them, disappearing for who knows what reason to leave her alone to care for their offspring. What was she to do but drown in her despair? She couldn't care less what happened to her at this point… she could have been raped, have her every possession stolen and be left an inch from death, and still she would have been no more miserable than she felt now.

"…Nino? Is that you?" Barely turning to address the soft voice that came from behind her, she weakly acknowledged him with a weak nod. She vaguely remembered his voice from three years past, but could not place his voice to a face in her memory. She didn't go through the effort of trying, either, remaining glued to her seat and nursing the shot of ale in her hands to her lips.

"…Yes. He left me, you know. I don't know why. What did I do wrong? Is it something wrong with me? My sons? My home? I don't get it." Letting her cares fall from her lips as she laughed bitterly at her own plight, she heard the mysterious greeter approach her, moving to take a seat in the wooden stool next to her. Ordering a round of his own, the kindhearted thief draped a supporting arm around her… not particularly caring about his close proximity at the moment but at least appreciating his good intentions, she allowed him to remain there as he tried to reassure her.

"I went through the same thing… true love, and all that… and watched it all fall apart. But, then again, I was never married, either… I was going to propose, but the next time I saw her, she was…" Unable to keep up his cheery demeanor as his memories went back to Leila, even an emotionally numb Nino could hear the heartfelt hurt in his voice at her mere mention. That's how she felt whenever she tried to bring up Jaffar, too… even cheery Rebecca hadn't known what to do when she had broken into tears upon telling her of his departure. Glad at least that someone understood but feeling slightly guilty for wishing understanding of this sort on someone else, she leaned gently into Matthew's embrace and allowed herself to be comforted by his presence.

"I just… I can't figure it out… why did he leave, Matthew? Am I not what he wanted?" Closing her eyes and letting the tears fall, she felt a reassuring hand move up to gently brush the tears away. He could feel the guilt well up inside of him at feeling this way towards her… ever since he saw her, he thought of her as a sort of little sister… but now, looking back, he saw that he had seen her for something else, as well. She was not truly seen to him as a sister, but as a kind, caring girl who could learn to cherish the things in life that most took for granted… and now, as he predicted, she was a kind mother, wife, and lover for a man who must have taken such things for granted. While it infuriated him to see her in pain at his account, as he had wounded his soul through Leila, as well, he knew that she needed him to be there more than he ever needed to slay the man that had flayed their hearts.

"Don't say that, Nino… he took you for granted. He was foolish… But then… we are all fools in love, aren't we…?" Sighing as he gently held her in his arms, she allowed herself to enjoy the comfort once again of being held in someone's embrace, whether it be lover or otherwise. Still shocked slightly at the news, however, she allowed herself one more question… and prayed it wouldn't send him away.

"…He killed her, Matthew. I know he killed Leila." She felt him flinch at her softly whispered words, but continued to speak. "Am I… I was associated with him, even before we joined the Black Fang. Are you… are you trying to hurt him through me?"

"Never… Never." Shaking his head fiercely as he hugged her closer, she could feel the strain he felt… sorrow, despair, anger, and guilt raged within him, but malice had no home in his heart. "I always… I've always envied him. I suppose it was just something else he took from me… my beloved, my heart, my soul… only after he married you did I notice that is was not Leila who had been lost… but you."

"M…Matthew?" She felt his grip loosen at this, as if he expected her to pull away. And he couldn't see why he hadn't already… he had said too much. His feelings were interfering with his judgment, and said attribute was already bruised as it was. He had fallen for a girl five years his junior, and had not even had the pretense to avoid her before this weakness soon tugged at his heart every time he saw her with his worst foe. Too many times had he gone spying on his own, seeing if there was anyone else who could distract him from the girl… Serra had not turned out to be the best girlfriend material, and Guy had proven to be a bit too… male for his tastes. He had danced with everyone in camp, attempted to woo every willing person, woman or otherwise, all the while carefully avoiding Nino… and yet, nothing could stop that dark, sinful thirst to see her only as his.

Every lover he took could only please him if he pictured the girl's face on him or her instead… a painful revelation, to be sure. Once, he had even cried out her name amidst his throes of passion, though Serra had been too encompassed in her bliss to care. He was a beast, he knew, but it took time to realize that what he felt was not lust, but loneliness… he yearned to see her, smiling by his side. He wished to hear her cheery voice, cordially chirping in the spring air as she had done so often for Jaffar. He wished for what he knew he couldn't get, and felt guiltier than ever to see her in pain because of what he had yearned for, despite the fact that he was in no way involved with the assassin's disappearance. And to think, he had even wished for this to happen; to have an opportunity to win her heart, even at the cost of her husband's life. Never before had he taken into account how much pain she would suffer, being torn away from him so brutally… and he knew her children would suffer, as well.

"I'm sorry. I knew in my heart that it was wrong, but… even though you were his… I want to make you happy, Nino. I… I can't bear to see you in pain… Not when I can stop it." Feeling her warmth never once moving away from him as he spoke, he felt her move closer, wrapping her arms around him to support him, as he had done for her. Scooping her into his embrace once again, each of them let their tears fall, never once caring about the fact that they were two people, crying in the publicity of a bar.

Despite this, Nino had been smiling contentedly, for she had not remembered being so blissful in so long… so long…

-End Flashback-

Knocking them brutally from their thoughts was a thunderous crash, followed quickly by a deafening bellow as a monstrous tower of green-tinged skin rushed forward to greet the two stragglers. Glaring at them through its one eye, the enormously large creature could easily determine the ease in which it could catch its prey today… a slim thief, who probably could not penetrate its leathery flesh, protecting a slim girl who looked more likely to throw a picnic basket at its head than to attack it with anything worthwhile.

As it began to flex its muscles to lift its large weapon from the earth, the Cyclops saw the strange, blonde human rush forward, dancing in an almost butterfly-like fashion in his favor for evasive action as he approached. Paying no heed to the small slices it took to its thick hid, the beast instead paid attention to the girl before it. Matthew, growing frustrated at his lack of effectiveness against such a beast, began to yell towards the girl, who had been frozen in place by fear. Though by now she should have overcome her fear of such things, her body was not as strong as it was when she had aged… as such, she felt frail, weak, and helpless, and was rooted to her spot.

"Nino! Run!" Determined to keep things within his power, Matthew began to try to ascend the Cyclops's pock-covered back, feeling the muscles ripple beneath its thick, leathery flesh as it reached up to remove the intrusive spy from its shoulders. Though its first few attempts were utterly futile, waving its arms about aimlessly, it managed to barely brush the thief's cape with its thick, stump-like fingers. With this information alone, it was all a matter of homing in on where he could have possibly moved in those few seconds before, with a roar of victory, the Cyclops grabbed the thief's cape and pulled him from its back.

Now being choked and gagged from the behemoth's hold in his collar, he couldn't even see the blaze of khaki rush before him… all he knew was that, in an instant, his vision erupted in red. His mind fell to thoughts of death, though the dying groans of the Cyclops quickly let him know otherwise. Blood from the beast, dark and vile, coated his cloak and would have splashed into his eyes, had he not been shielding them with his arm.

Driven through the beast's single eye was a set of twin daggers, pushed through the eyes and penetrating deep enough to easily reach the spy's elbow, had he reached his hand into the wound. Only after noticing the insignia on the daggers did he look up, only to meet the cold, gold eyes of the man he had dreaded to face the most for all the years he had shared his love for this man's wife.

Jaffar stood before them, just as strong and magnificent as the days he had been declared the Angel of Death.

--------------

"…It appears that the monsters you sent out on them had not proved to be as effective as you said they would, Blood Beryl. Could it be… that you've lost your touch? Can you only control these simpletons, rather than the true beasts of destruction?" Formortiis paused, turning to face his excommunicated bishop with a disappointed look in his eyes that was underlain by a veil of anger that would not be completely hidden by any means. Riev hid the shudder that coursed its way through his spine, and paused momentarily before bowing in reverence and fear before his lord.

"My sincerest apologies, my lord… it appears that the Cyclops that I sent was enough to lay their army to rest… I wanted to send more, my lord, but it was all I could conjure with my current strength… but I could, perhaps, with your permission, unleash the full horrors of Darkling woods…" Riev trailed off at this point, allowing his unasked question to voice itself through his tone and comment. In order to harness control over the hordes that resided in the darkest depths of the murky wood, he would have to be lent powers from his lord and liege… otherwise, they would find no reason to obey the bishop, and thus would destroy him without a second thought. With the power of the Demon King temporarily bolstering his commands, however, even the fiercest of beasts would immediately bend to his will. Immediately pausing and retreating slightly with a raise of Lyon's hand, however, Riev heeded his master's next words.

"No… there's no need for that. I have a much more… effective idea in mind." Almost gliding towards one of the bookshelves that lined the walls of the corridor that lay just behind the throne room and out of the sight of prying eyes, the demonic force forced a smile of victory upon the defeated prince's features as he grasped a small, leather-bound book in his hand. Being especially mindful of his sharpened, almost claw like nails as he gingerly pulled the book free from its neighbors, he heard the wood almost sigh as some of the tension was released from the tightly-packed space. Gently blowing on the dust-encrusted diary that lay in his hand, he opened the black book posthaste, searching for one page in particular.

Within the bindings of the diary lay countless summoning spells… from the common phantom, which most summoners used, there rose various other incantations. There were those used to summon spirits, from the harmless but ornamental sylphs to the dangerous souls that had risen from the realms of death itself… and there were also spells to summon physical beings; men, women, warriors, kings, mercenaries, or even the ancient Heroes of lore. However, he knew well enough that most of these spells had dire consequences, leaving him to find one in particular. He had waited a long time to exercise its use, but having no body had delayed the event for quite some time. Smiling to the point where his fanglike teeth showed past his lips, Formortiis traced the spell gingerly with a finger, whispering the words as he went. Though the words were not in the Elibean tongue that Riev was used to hearing, he could recognize the words as a dead language, one that had not been spoken since the Demon King himself had walked the earth, all those years ago…

_To you who hailed from Akaneia, to wield a sword of lore,_

_I call you now, warrior of Aritia…_

_The man who held Falchion, to stop a dragon's war…_

_Come now, brave soul, and bolster my militia!_

From the depths of the darkness that drowned the room in its protective grasp came forth a brilliant rune, blazing in emerald light as it traced itself into the stones of the floor. An insignia, showing a dragon clutching a strange gemstone, began to literally scorch the stones as a strange wind shook the very foundations of the castle they now stood in. And yet, the Demon King was not afraid, and even had a sacrifice ready to offer. Quickly summoning a disposable phantom, he watched as the dead warrior turned to look inquisitively at him before quickly becoming engulfed in flames. Being mute, the summoned creature did not cry out, only disintegrating into a strange, pink ash that lightly surrounded the outside of the insignia. An almost blinding flash of emerald light flooded the room, resulting in Lyon having to shield his eyes from the harsh exposure.

When the harsh light cleared, the demonic prince tentatively opened his eyes, which were greeted by the very sight that he wanted to see. Before him, kneeling still within the rune, was the warrior he had summoned with surprisingly little effort… and, for such strength and prestige, that was a very good blessing, indeed.

Had the young man's eyes been open, the Demon King would have been greeted with the smoothest of gemstones, with their color matching the sky covered in a light veil of dark clouds. His hair was a deep blue, shaming the deepest of oceans in its hue while reaching down to barely grace his shoulders in the back. His bangs did not drape into his eyes, hovering above them instead as the small gold circlet on his head kept stray hair from causing too much trouble to his vision while simultaneously announcing his title to the ignorant. The incredibly dark dye used to create the cape that he wore was hard to come by, and thus accentuated his rank as the navy cloth draped around the front to be fastened with a ruby crest as the rest of the cape lay in its entirety against his back. The underside to this was a dark crimson, which also bled wealth in his world. Rather than valiantly catching the breeze as it usually did, however, it now served as a sort of cloak, to better hide him from this strange man as he continued to kneel before the demonic emperor.

It appeared not even the combat-ready side of this warrior did not somehow scream his title to citizens in his homeland; chain mail of extremely high quality lay under the fine obsidian breastplates he wore, though even the outlying border of said plates were coated with a gold sheen before the same metal filled the elegant designs were carved out on the dark metal that made up the majority of the work. Similarly ornate designs were donned on his shoulder guards, as well. The silk of the azure vest he wore was matched in quality only by the gold embroidery that was added to it, which made its way up to endow the high neck with an ornate design before trimming the inner edges of the outfit. The vest, as to be expected, bisects in the middle by his waist. A plain leather belt held this together, but even that had quite the fancy gold buckle to adorn it. The black pants that he wore beneath all this continued on nonchalantly until reaching his boots; another sapphire example of his wealth and prestige.

Strangely enough, his legendary blade Falchion was nowhere to be seen, for it had been hidden carefully from view by Grado's prince to decrease the chance of retaliation.

Heavy breathing wracked the teen's body as he continued to kneel on one knee, forced by the summoning to take on this position but lacking the strength to move himself from it. It scared him, in a way, how he was unable to move of his own accord… then again, his mentor had told him never to over-exert himself, correct? It appeared he had overdone it again… and he had paid the price. To exhaust himself so much had always left his mind somewhat susceptible to magic-based assaults, but this in itself proved to be quite the anomaly. Never before had he been summoned, and thus had not experienced this sort of ordeal before. With scarcely the strength to brush his sapphire hair from his eyes, the prince of Aritia had no idea that his lack of energy was completely normal, designed to almost always force the subject that had been summoned into submission.

Trying to push himself up, he found that even putting the slightest bit of effort on his gloved knuckles rendered the strength in his elbows useless… the navy gloves that stretched from his elbow to cut off at his knuckles seemed to have more strength in them than he; pitiful, really, considering that they had been constructed of a new fabric consisting of cotton and silk.

Stepping forward, the Demon King wasted no time. Harshly pulling the fatigued warrior up by the right wrist, he heard the fighter hiss and cry out in pain as he burned his mark into his hand. Though the wound healed extremely quickly and ceased to hurt after a short while, the scar left behind was to always be a painful reminder to him of the ordeal. Smiling in an almost mockingly gentle manner towards the young crown prince, Lyon met the defiant sapphire eyes of the swordsman before issuing to the man his first command. As he was bound to him now, he would not disobey unless death or unconsciousness prevented him from doing so…

"Stand up, valiant warrior. Step now towards Frelia, and crush the dogs that hound my every step. Son of Aritia, and wielder of the sacred blade, Falchion… go forth, Prince Marth of Aritia, and strike down those who oppose me."


	9. Chapter 8

Ch. 8: Bloodstains

"What… What! How could this have happened? Surely you could have been more responsible…!" L'Arachel began ranting as soon as the three stragglers returned in complete silence, not caring that they paid no attention to her as she spoke. She had gotten enough of the careless attitude from Rennac to recognize the factors that easily told her that they did not care to hear her speak…. But, in her mind, that made it all the more rewarding to instill her wisdom upon them; she would prove to them that she was worth listening to, and maybe they could tell the others of her marvelous insight, as well. However, she realized over a few minutes of speaking, they clearly had no intent of even acknowledging her existence, let alone her words. Deciding to quickly conclude her chastising, lest she not be able to speak as much later (She so dreaded the thought of losing her voice, after all; why, the people would be horrified, to see the beautiful angel lose her marvelous, melodious voice!), she finished, "…you should have informed me, the Princess of Peerless beauty, for I would have smote the foe with the power of righteousness!" A small chorus of agreeing voices behind her quickly notified the chastised warriors that the other two hellions were with her, too. Quickly dismissing themselves, the three of them went their separate ways, determined to sort things out on their own as they mingled in with the marching ranks of the army.

As of yet, the night had been uneventful and relatively silent, save for the former Cyclops attack and the monotonous sounds of the army's boots as they landed one after another on the hard-packed dirt. The cavaliers and paladins held the side ranks of the march, to prevent their horses from kicking anyone behind them (The majority of the horses had been trained as colts to not accept anyone behind them, always making them assume that they had been ambushed; it was for the safety of the riders, but not for their comrades, who oftentimes walked on foot.), and also served as the fastest way to run up and down the ranks to reinforce an attacked ally, regardless of where they marched. Above them lazily soared the pegasi and wyverns of their company, most of who kept an eye out for attackers. A few of them, however, had their precious ones astride their beasts, lest they be attacked by the monsters that could have possibly lay below. Guinevere, for example, rode before Miledy, to prevent the lechers of the party from assailing the princess of Bern, while Farina carried her protesting husband astride Murphy, who likewise had quite a bit of fun harassing the airsick pirate. Thany, knowing how effective Murphy was at taking advantage of this particular flaw, pulled her own winged mount far away from her parents… and just in time, too, it seemed, as the rather unsatisfactory sounds alerted her to Murphy's success. The rather snide Pegasus always made sure to turn on her side when this happened, just to make sure that the vomit landed on the trees, rather than on her feathers.

Surprisingly enough, the hopelessly paranoid Heath was not watching for foes, but rather, stared down below at the ruby-haired valkyrie that rode below him, constantly making sure that she was safe. He put her safety before his own, and her life before his… it was the least he could do to lessen his guilt and attempt to stave the pains in his heart. He never wanted to leave her, but…. Such thoughts were selfish, and not to her benefit. A noble woman from Etruria should never have even thought of pursuing the love of a shamed Bernian deserter, and yet she had… and, before he was even aware of the situation, she had succeeded in achieving what she had desired; his heart, his love, his hope. But to feel all that crashing down around him tore them both apart, far more than either of them knew that the other had gone through…

It didn't take much effort to realize that families often stuck together in the midst of the large army, with the former traveling pairs enlarging to encompass the entirety of their kindred. Sue watched as her father allowed her mother to ride on her stallion, while she herself allowed Sin to ride beside her. She knew her father didn't approve just yet, and wondered when he would find it appropriate to intervene… for listening to her friends grumble and groan about their own parents finding them in the most inconvenient of scenarios made her quite nervous about doing any such thing with Sin. Even the peck on the cheek she had given him a few nights ago left her face awash with a blush as she recalled with embarrassment the intimacy. Love was considered very pure in Sacae; there was no need to express such feelings openly with friends, for honor tied their hearts together more than any physical activity could have ever accomplished. As such, to even kiss in public was as embarrassing to the members of the Kutolah as it was for an ordinary Pheraean man to engage in lovemaking while being watched by millions of scornful viewers. It was shameful and unheard of… even though she knew her mother, having been accustomed to some of the Elibean customs while engaging in the Second Scouring, did not believe that such actions should be hidden from the outside world.

Quite frankly, she wasn't sure whether she should be feeling ashamed or awed by her mother's courage, to defy her country's customs so; and even moreso for her father, who had clung to all the other Kutolah customs tighter than his grip on a bow during combat.

It was only a half-day march from Border Mulan to the capital city of Frelia, and the vague outlines of the majestic castle could be seen as the beginning rays of the dawn broke over the horizon. Despite its overpowering sense of grace and majesty, they noticed after getting closer, the Castle Frelia seemed to be naught but a husk of what it used to be. The very air around the castle seemed devoid of life, and the villages surrounding the castle paid Innes and Tana only menial forms of respect as they passed. There was no need to respect them anymore, they thought, for the castle was nothing but an insect's abandoned skin; a hollow structure, formerly full of life, but was now home to nothing but desolation and memories of times past. The very thought infuriated the Frelian lord, and they set further onward towards the castle.

By this time, morale had remained high, with the exception of three individuals, whose self-righteous healers seemed hell-bent on causing some sort of ruckus… or, at least, it seemed as if their 'stalkers' were a plague personified, made only to make their lives a living hell. Some of the more sadistic individuals found some kind of pleasure when the found that they were not the victims… rather, three disgruntled gentlemen had taken the blow for the team, so to speak. Serra had temporarily abandoned her favorite little mage in favor of learning more about Rennac, boasting about her noble lineage while simultaneously causing the man to almost wish that he were back with his former mistress. The poor rogues was left to simply run away as fast as he could, darting in and out of their ranks in a vain attempt to escape. However, the cleric seemed to know just where he was headed, just as L'Arachel was able to do. And, just like said woman, both of them scared him senseless when it came to that ability. Was there no privacy for him when they were around?

Clarine, on the other hand, set off to bug Erk, asking about her mother and father's hidden secrets, bad habits, and other errs that she could use against them in an argument. She also inquired as to whether or not her brother was more of a hellion than she was… not surprisingly, she was greeted with only silence as the antisocial mage turned away. While Serra at least had some sort of charm, this girl was beyond his ability to be patient with. Had she not been a child of his teacher, he would have wasted no time in dispatching her in whatever way was most convenient for him. In fact, he had even gotten a look of approval from Pent when he put up with her incessant speech… with something like that haunting his memory, there was no throttling her now without his conscience bugging him for all time.

L'Arachel was then left with Rutger, who was not very pleased at all with his current company. Despite his rather desperate attempts to get away (Though, throughout his little endeavor, he made sure not to look desperate while doing so… he had simply made up excuses to try to get out of her company. Despite all this, she had followed him everywhere, much to his disdain.), he found that his efforts were rather fruitless as he was forced to listen to lecture upon lecture about how his swordsmanship was evil, and that learning and wishing to develop those killing arts further was the work of some evil demon that lurked within him. He almost wished he had some sort of demon within him; it would give him a reason to throttle the self-righteous troubadour. After all, he had no one to impress… but, recalling Karel's rebuking of his nature, he repressed the urge with the mentality that her living to annoy someone else caused much more pain than the injury he could inflict on her.

Upon arriving at the castle, Innes wasted no time in leading a small group of troops into the castle walls. Too many members of the army would only serve to get in the way if they had to fight in the narrow corridors, he knew, and so he moved into the castle without the others having any time to argue. Of course, his sister had quite the few choice words to say about that. She had found the note he had left, which told her that he had left an hour ago to the castle, which was a half an hour's walk away.

"Why… Brother! Damn you, Innes!" Tana yelled when she found out that he had departed, surprising Ephraim and Eirika quite a bit with her outburst. They had never known her to be the swearing type, but they knew that it was just as well; Innes was a marvelous tactician, true enough, but his pride often clouded his judgment amidst combat. Once, Tana recalled, he had leapt in the way of an oncoming arrow, which would otherwise have struck Vanessa… oh, how she disapproved of his pig-headedness and foolhardy pride! Maybe he just wanted to look the hero again…

"Tana… I'm sure he knew what he was doing. How often have you seen him run into a…" Listening as Eirika paused for a moment, Tana leapt on the opportune chance to exploit Eirika's error. The blue-haired Pegasus knight _knew_ that her brother had gotten into some rather sticky situations before, regardless of how hard her friend tried to defend him. It was almost infuriating, how she stood up for him… but, then again, she had also stood up for Ephraim before.

"…And I'm sure that you coming to his rescue in Carcino doesn't qualify as a suicidal dash onto Death's Door?" Tana laughed bitterly at this, watching Eirika look just a tad ashamed that she had forgotten about that. Indeed, it had been her reinforcements that had allowed the Frelian prince to survive, but it wasn't something that she routinely held over his head or anything. She had no use in remembering, though she was fairly sure that Tana dwelt on that topic quite frequently. The younger girl had always envied her closeness with Ephraim, and little wonder; she and her brother could scarcely hold a decent conversation without the words soon erupting into a heated argument, while the other two seemed to almost share the exact same feelings on every matter, and met each other halfway if one didn't agree with the other's thoughts. Ephraim and Eirika could always understand each other; Innes and Tana could not.

"Bah, he'll be fine." A voice behind them made the group jump, which incited a hearty laugh from the figure that stood behind them. Gerik smirked a bit, pointing towards the sniper as he ran into the castle gates. "He escaped relatively unharmed from Carcino, with only what weapons we had, and only one fighter on backup. Sorry, Tethys, but you didn't exactly count as a fighter." Waving his hand a bit as the lords turned around, they saw that, indeed, Tethys had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Caught, the dancer walked in, tossing her ruby hair a bit to the side; more of a gesture of nonchalance than one of true necessity.

"Hmph! Some gratitude. And where would you be now, without my invigorating dance? And do recall that I _did_ take care of a few of them, myself." Smiling a bit at the odd looks she received from the Elibean lords, who had until now had seen no reason to speak, she let her smile fall when Gerik spoke again.

"…Catching a few of them by the neck with your ribbon on accident doesn't exactly qualify for taking care of them, Tethys… especially since I had to decapitate them after you started hollering about having dirty men tied up in your dancing gear." Rolling his eyes, he turned back to look at Tana. All the cheer from the last comment disappeared, leaving him only with a serious tone that he rarely expressed towards anyone but his mercenary group while briefing them on their next assignment. "I don't think you've got anything to worry about, Tana. He's gotten himself out of worse situations than this, and he did say he'd signal if he needed help. All we have to do is look for the red sparks… but we'll never see 'em. His pride's too much for him to--"

Ironically, those red sparks they had been dreading to see soon lit up the sky, emanating from the center of the castle. Gerik, not seeing Tana's 'I told you so' glare, was still gazing up at the sky with disbelief and amusement written all over his face.

"Well, I'll be damned…"

----------

Within the castle walls, Innes knew he had made a dire miscalculation for the moment he passed the gates. He knew that Bern had set up a temporary base there, but he certainly hadn't expected for a good two hundred or so soldiers to be there. Now his small band of warriors had found themselves defending themselves in the narrowest hallway in the castle, just before the throne room; by posting himself here, he knew, the enemy would have no advantage in terms of surrounding them or overwhelming them with numbers… however, Bern had the advantage of having a stream of fresh, ready-to-fight soldiers, while Innes was left with one group of soldiers, whose endurance was weathering down with each swing of their weapons.

"I've sent the signal, Prince Innes. It may take a while for the reinforcements to arrive, however… do we have any spare weapons with us?" Saleh asked coolly, tossing yet another orb of fire into the fray. So far, magic had been their best ally, temporarily scattering the enemy ranks while allowing them to strike from afar. However, they still required their fighters to be on the front line, for the sake of protecting their two magisters.

"No, we don't. That's why I told you to light the signal in the first place." Speaking in his typical cynical, condescending tone, Innes turned instead to fire an arrow into the front lines, felling a soldier who saw nothing but the approaching of a blur before an arrow embedded itself between his eyes. His allied warriors on the front lines were unphased by this sniping, and rather, welcomed it with open arms; anything that could temporarily stem the tide of enemies, even for a few tenths of a second, came as a blessing to them. Looking back for one brief moment as he held a soldier at bay, Ross shouted back to his commander and temporary tactician as he heard the steady, strong wing beats that alerted him to the new wave of foes.

"Innes! The wyverns are approaching! Take 'em out, will ya?" Surprisingly enough, it was not the prince that shot down the oncoming winged beasts, but a bright bolt of lightning, which seared straight through the tough hides of the wyverns and sent them crashing into the ground. The pathetic mews of the wyverns were overridden by the screams of the soldiers that they had fallen upon; the hallways were densely packed with men, and so each falling wyvern took at least five to ten soldiers down with them as they collided with the earth. Turning to see who his savior was, Ross was not greeted with the calm, cool appearance of Saleh; but rather, the smug, proud face of someone he knew much better met his gaze, for better or for worse.

"…I told you that I would end up protecting you, Sir Son-of-Warrior-Garcia-Ross." Content with flaunting her superiority once again, Lute let another bolt of lightning fly into the fray, scorching the skin of wyvern and human alike as the electricity weaved in and out of the crowd with the aid of their armor. The metal plates that normally protected them conducted electricity quite well, and many a soldier was left twitching on the ground, their skin littered with blisters and beginning to curl back as the burns incinerated the top layer of skin. The putrid smell of burnt flesh rivaled that of the scent of blood, which already overpowered the senses of those on the front lines.

"…Is this all you've got?" Seemingly unimpressed by his opponents, Raven pulled an axe from his belt to quickly replace the sword he had all but lost within the opponent's armor. Just a few moments ago, he had driven his blade straight through an opposing knight, barely slowed by the thick plates of armor that covered the man's torso and belly. However, as the knight fell, he found himself unable to retrieve his weapon without leaving himself completely vulnerable to enemy strikes. Maneuvering easily through the fighting and preferring to dodge rather than block, Raven eventually found that he took significantly less damage by staying put… mainly because the spell casters behind him thought that he was an enemy when he moved too far ahead of the group. He knew his style of fighting gave him quite a bit of endurance, but that mattered little if his last weapon were to break amidst the struggle.

"Wow! This is great!" Wil, completely unaffected by all the bloodshed around him, unleashed arrow upon arrow into the crowds. He stood beside Wolt, who likewise let loose a steady stream of arrows. Each noticed that their quiver was running empty, however, which made them quite nervous. Ceasing fire to save ammunition until it was truly needed, both archers began firing other objects instead. Sticks that were broken lances were fired into the fray, javelins were loaded into their bows, and even the odd piece of broken metal was used to strike from afar. Ultimately, both teens ended up with large lacerations in their hands as a result of this type of combat, and had to cease in order to mend their wounds temporarily with strips of cloth torn from their shirts. They gave their arrows to Innes, since they could no longer participate in combat; an archer with wounded hands was utterly useless, after all, and they would only serve to be a detriment to the cause.

Each of the warriors had fought valiantly for the first half and hour or so, with only exhaustion limiting their actions on the battlefield. Ross continued to decimate foe after foe; despite his small stature and the size of the axes he wielded, his strength had already surpassed his father's in every aspect. Wil and Wolt were incapacitated, though Innes continued to pepper shots into the fray and keep the winged beasts away from their ranks. Raven was injured after roughly two thirds of the army had fallen, having taken a sword wound to his abdomen. Though it was not a fatal slash wound, it reached down almost a centimeter into his flesh and spread across his entire midsection; what worried the two women who stood aside, however, was that it continued to bleed relentlessly whenever he tried to swing a blade. Adrenaline kept him going for a few more minutes before Wendy literally carried him off the battlefield after momentarily using her armor as a wall, scared for his life after watching his blade strokes slow down to an almost sluggish level. Though he protested violently to this, blood loss soon rendered his vision blurry before the darkness that was unconsciousness took him. She left him by Innes, who kept Raven's weapon handy in case he regained consciousness. It was then that Wendy and Amelia had taken over, axes and lances blazing.

The two girls who served as reinforcements of the group fought side-by-side, moving up to replace the other melee units when exhaustion seemed to overtake them. The pink general was a sight to behold; a behemoth of brightly-hued clanking metal, moving up with an axe in each hand. The woman, though most would consider her to not be the war-bound type, did not allow her image to interfere with her skills in combat. Many of them had claimed behind her back that her armor would one day be stained red from all the blood she spilled; a testament being proven true as more and more spatters of crimson liquid came to rest on its plates. Whether she slammed the hilt of her axes into opponents' skulls or used their blades to flay their bodies like fish, the only thing that kept her from moving forward was the sheer number of foes that remained. Her downfall came in her endurance, for holding up armor that weighed almost twice as much as she made for quite the exhausting experience, especially if she was forced to walk. While standing in place did not deplete her energy, as the armor held her upright, she had to constantly move in order to get the best angle for swinging her weapons. She also had to make sure she didn't hit her smaller partner… difficult, considering that her bulk took up half the hallway and the thin, panoramic view of the outside world offered little in terms of looking up or down at allies or opponents. She could see only at one altitude, which was the height of her eyes.

Amelia, who seemed much smaller with her lack of armor, fought beside her, using all the skills she learned with the lance to strike at her foes. She had taught herself this unique style of fighting, and it showed; while most lance-wielding fighters liked to stab at their opponents, she used the weapon's length to strike sideways, striking at their skulls with all of her weight and the weapon's momentum behind it. This way, she did not waste time in pulling the lance from the corpses while also carrying the ability to strike more than one opponent as she struck in an arc before her. Oftentimes, this led to opponents causing others in their ranks to lose balance; all of who made easy targets for either her or Wendy's weapons.

"Damn it! Wendy, Amelia, fall back!" Several men were approaching the two fighters with weapons that neither could fight without serious injury; warriors carrying large, armor-crushing hammers followed behind an entire group armed to the teeth with rapiers and hatchets. While that in itself did not seem serious, he knew it was imperative to get them out of harm's way, lest danger befall his two emergency fighters. He never intended for them to fight in the first place; when he had planned out his course of attack, he had wanted Wendy to appear intimidating to the foe, distracting their attention before having the rest of their warriors move around to attack the foe in a pincer formation. Amelia, the lightest of their warriors and quickest on her feet, was supposed to move straight to the throne room (He hadn't wanted to bring along either of the rogues or any of the new thieves; he didn't trust them any farther than he could have gone over and kissed them. Considering his infatuation with Eirika, that wasn't likely in the least.), figure out who was occupying it, guess their general strengths, and return to regroup. Then again, he had also estimated that their numbers were about a third of what they were now, and he had been quite wrong about that.

"Raven is injured, and Ross is exhausted! They're in no condition to fight!" Wendy did not even spare a look back, and Innes scarcely heard her over the resulting clanging of metal against metal. Again and again the sounds of gnashing steel resounded in the air, and soon, too, did the scream of pain that was torn from the younger girl's throat. The pink knight was shocked, considering that most of the remainder of the army had been decimated… As Wendy turned, she was greeted with a sight she never thought she'd see…

Stuck within Amelia's left shoulder was a hatchet, which now protruded sickly from the ghastly wound it had produced. Blood continued to gush out in many rivulets, quickly soaking her clothes and trickling down her belly. That in itself was not particularly shocking; injuries such as that could be treated with the aid of a healer, despite the incredible amount of pain the girl currently experienced. What none of their company expected was for the ruler of this particular encampment to approach them, let alone strike at them so quickly. Already, an azure-haired swordsman had struck, burying the blade of the sword into the girl's side. The swordsman made sure to lean all of his weight into the blade, as well, which allowed it to bore deeper into her body… Amelia felt the cruel tearing of her flesh as she felt one more shriek of pain escape her lips before the fiery pain that ailed her subsided as she fell to the ground. She felt almost numb… she felt no more of the pain, but her other senses seemed to fade, as well. Her vision blurred, her hearing became fuzzy, and all was numb to the touch… and she felt so sleepy…

Withdrawing his sword from her side and kicking Amelia's prone form aside, the warrior who had not hailed from Bern stood ready to fight, grasping his sword with a hand that looked as if it had been burned…

"You… You'll pay for that, you blackheart!" Picking up Amelia's lance with one hand while continuing to hold an axe in the other, Wendy didn't even hear Innes's protesting cries as she charged into battle. With skill and speed that seemed unbecoming of a knight, she swept both of her weapons in front of her in an x-shaped pattern, ensuring that he would have to block, rather than dodge her weapons. Sure enough, he did… though, strangely enough, his face did not contort with the strain of holding her back, though he did seem to have trouble holding her off, as testified by the shaking of his hands and arms. Meeting his eyes, Wendy could see that something was… off. Despite the darkness of the sapphire that composed them, she couldn't see an end to the depth and the cloudiness that blurred his eyes. It was like staring into a funnel of clouds, only with no beginning and no end.

"…Blackheart, you say? You don't know the half of it, Ostian knight." Still as unemotional as the Dark Priestess, the warrior continued to apply pressure against her weapons, despite the weight disadvantage. The burn on his hand slowly began to glow, mirroring the sigil of the rune that summoned the Bael in the encampment as he began to push back. Surprised, Wendy could feel the man below her weapons begin to press upward with more force than he ever had previously, outshining his previous performance by threefold before, using her weight against her, he pushed in a diagonal fashion. Knocked off-balance, it took a few seconds for her to regain her footing… seconds that were more than taken advantage of by the adversary.

Finding the vulnerable niche just below her helmet, which barely protected her vulnerable neck, the enemy lord whipped his sword arm back, preparing to thrust inward for the kill…and a spray of crimson liquid splattered onto the ground, painting the girl's armor a dark red, just as they always said it would. He didn't revel in the bloodshed, however, for something was horribly wrong… the fact that he would kill unnerved him, as did the strangeness of the blood. Something was off…

For it was not her blood that had been spilled, but his own.

Feeling a sharp stab of pain as metal pierced his back, Marth looked down to see the tip of a rapier emerging from his chest like a grotesque growth, covered in blood while the steel it was made of continued shining malevolently as if it had never been stained. Feeling it suddenly withdraw, he felt the fiery pain follow in its wake, staying behind in the wound after the perpetrator had left its victim. Dropping his iron sword, he made himself turn around, despite the pain that he felt. He could not die now, he remembered. There was so much to do… so much to accomplish… Completely ignoring the wave of reinforcements that arrived for the group he fought and not caring that both of the wounded girls were being healed, he instead turned his attention towards the one who had attacked him.

"You're… Roy of Pherae, aren't you… the royal brat of Lycia." His deep, almost inhuman voicecarried with it a tone that seemed almost amused that he had been stabbed by such a 'weak' foe, and did not bother to hide it. He could almost feel the seething anger of the lord behind him, but paid no heed. Eliwood, knowing that his son's pride and honor was being attacked, let him be… it did no good to have another fighting for his honor.

"I am Roy, son of Marquess Pherae. Who are you, to have attacked Frelia?" Roy refused his anger seep into his voice, and became even more agitated to hear the man once again chuckle bitterly at his attempt to salvage his honor.

"You need not know my name. I assure you, however… my motives are far beyond your comprehension." Something nagged within him violently at this point… he felt as if something that was a part of him was revolting violently against his demeanor and words. Why was his voice not his own? What was this force, rebelling against him? Why did it seem so familiar…? He was far too unnerved by this to not take any action, but did not know what he could do to stop it. It was within his mind; he could take no sword to it. It had no corporeal form; he could not slay it. It did not live as he did; he could not bribe it to leave. A sense of familiarity rose up within him, boiling over before he realized at once what it was… _himself._

His individuality had been torn apart by his summoner, left to rot within the confines of his mind… but now, he could speak freely, however temporarily. He noted that, for the first time, the scar ceased its burning… that in itself was a marvelous blessing. He found that he could actually repress feelings of bloodlust now; feelings he had never harbored before meeting Formortiis, and a thirst that still disgusted him.

"…Tell me. What do you believe to be incomprehensible?" Snapping out of his temper-fueled fit, Roy returned to his calmer demeanor… using his intellect rather than anger to get his way, he hoped at least to coax out one or two answers before letting his sword finish the speaking for him.

"…My name is Marth, Sir Roy." Bowing deeply in genuine respect (it certainly wasn't a gesture he used often, but he had learned how to do it well enough by watching others), Marth continued to speak. His voice was the equivalent of silk; smooth, velvety, and soft. It wasn't menacing, and was quite appealing to the ears, but was far. "I did not attack Frelia, nor am I a part of Bern's army. I am—" Gripping his chest at the renewed pain, he felt only a crimson haze descend over his vision before collapsing to the earth. A newfound pain raged within him, ten times worse than before; it shook his nerves, his body, and his very soul as he could only scream inaudibly inside himself. He could not open his mouth, could not move a muscle… no, something vile seemed to be seeping into every core of his being. He heard the baritone echoes of a voice within his skull before he lost all conscious thought…

_This body… yes. It's much stronger than Grado's prince. You've failed me… and yet, you will make a fine host, Marth of Aritia._

_--------------------------------_

(Hnee. :3 Thank you to all my reviewers. The lemon's in two chapters, methinks. Sorry about the delay; I've been on quite the hectic schedule, recently. As clichéd as it sounds, please read and review!)


	10. Chapter 9

Ch. 9: False Hopes, True Deceptions

Deep within the bowels of Grado Castle, where the massive stone fortress of a palace stood majestically to block the sun's setting form behind it, a lone, orchid-haired figure lay prone on the stone floor, gasping for air as he grasped his heart. The frail prince, feeling the strange but empowering presence of Formortiis leave his body in favor of a stronger fighter, found that his own body could barely function without the strength of his demonic possessor. This he expected… it was to tell the host that, should he return, the demonic presence would help him more than hinder him; a not-so-subtle way of telling the person that their will was for naught if their body would not cooperate with whatever energy he had left. Behind him, two generals of Grado stood by, with one patiently awaiting his awakening while the other seemed rather insensitive to his prince's plight. Moving instead to press a metal-tipped boot into the side of his body, the one known as the Moonstone impatiently began to chide.

"Don't die on me, Prince!" The gemstone general smirked, watching almost victoriously from above the fallen royalty's prone figure as it lay upon the cold, hard stones of the keep. Tapping the tip of his lance lightly against the prince's side, as if testing him to see if he could at least sidle away from fear, Valter seemed content when Lyon's eyes widened in response. He could not move away from this impending danger, it seemed… looking about him as swiftly as he could, he tried to remember where he had placed the mythical blade, Marth's Falchion. However, upon craning his neck upward ever so slightly to see, he noted that the space that had formerly housed the sword was now empty; apparently, the weapon had been vacated for some greater use. The tapestries that hung about them, draped in the majestic, deep violet and gold that were Grado's national colors, seemed only to mock him as they hung out of the madman's reach. They, unlike him, could not be torn apart with a lance unless Valter brought his mount in with him; they were too high up. Likewise, Lyon thought with despair, he too wished to be draped on high, out of reach of the vile beast that his former mental companion had deemed fit to serve beneath him. He was a snake, and a vile one at that… he would outdo the worst of the vipers in the world, had he the chance to metamorphose into one of their kind.

The bookshelf of fine oak lay off to the side; still standing ever vigil while holding the texts that the prince knew had summoned the poor azure-haired monarch of Aritia, its height and solid frame made the prince think only of his own frailty. In front of it, not caring that he was within the scorched sigil that had marked Marth's arrival, stood the former religious bishop of the Theocracy of Rausten. Now known only as the Blood Beryl, the haggard old man moved forward ever so slowly, not bothering to rush his actions. Despite his old and decrepit appearance, Lyon knew better than to rely on such skin-deep, fickle ideals; a train of thought that had been proven more than correct, concerning the bishop's impressive battle record. The bags that hung beneath the bishop's sunken eyes seemed almost to accentuate his age, with the only thing that proclaimed some sort of youth being in his garb, which mirrored that of a bishop several decades his junior. He had stained them crimson, to his own accord, and had declared thus that all of the hypocrites that inhabited Rausten be persecuted, just as he had in times past when the fool Manson had him banished from the clergy.

Realizing that he should be focusing more on the immediate danger than allowing his mind to wander (though he wished he did not have to… he was not as strong mentally as either of the Renais twins, he knew, and the only way to keep a cool head for him was to pay attention to other things…), he nevertheless looked up to see the pale face of Valter peering down at him from what seemed to be an indescribably long distance away. From his standpoint on the floor, he felt even more vulnerable than he ever had before… though the fact that he could scarcely change that in his current condition further augmented the problem to immense proportions.

"Remember our contract… today, the first harvest moon of the Archer, the deal shall be done. Formortiis declared it so, and so it shall be done." Gently squeezing the gemstone he held in his pocket, Valter allowed a smirk to run across his face as he pulled the prince up by the deep violet cloth that covered his fragile neck, thus forcing the thin-framed prince to stand or risk being strangled by his own general's hand. From there, he felt a strange energy take its place, almost as if some sort of magic had formed into a fist, designed only to hold him upright and strangle him if necessary. Indeed, he found out; looking down upon where Valter's hand had vacated the strained cloth that covered his neck, he saw that a strange, pale light had taken its place. With powers such as these, it was little wonder why the church had perceived the Blood Beryl to be a threat to their beliefs; if he could slay them, what would stop him from proclaiming that he alone spoke with the voice of the gods?

Lyon's normally gentle purple eyes now danced with fear, looking upon his former assistant while silently screaming for help. Rather than come to his aid, however, the excommunicated bishop of Rausten simply stood aside and let the Moonstone finish his work. It was only then that Lyon truly wished for the others back… Knoll had done nothing wrong to him, and the Obsidian had done the right thing, going to move to Ephraim's aid. It hurt his soul to remember that both the Fluorspar and Sunstone were deceased, and even more to realize that he had no chance of rescue. Perhaps hope for him lay with his father… no, not his father. He could not even bear to call that reanimated corpse a living being, let alone associate the putrid mass of deceased flesh with someone of close relation to him. He was alone, and, judging by the reaction of the two that now inhabited the same room, he wished at this point that the Demon King hadn't left him. It was a sad wish, to be sure, but living with a demonic behemoth inside of him was far better than to see those with hearts equal to Formortiis in malevolence turn to move against him.

"…It has begun. The fulfillment of the contract is at hand. Sealed by your blood as well as that of the Moonstone, it is time to fulfill your end of the bargain, Prince Lyon of Grado." The bishop spoke, allowing Valter to act as Lyon was transfixed on his words. Moving his free hand to grasp the gem that lay in his pocket, Valter brought it to rest against the cloth that covered the heart of his former liege. Terrified but lacking the energy to move or resist, Lyon's fear could only be attested to the widening of his eyes. Like amethysts they shone, looking straight ahead rather than to the cold, smooth, and ironically pure stone that was now pressed against the velvet that covered the front of his ribcage… he couldn't break his gaze away from those feral, beady, golden eyes that stared at him with malice and hunger unrivaled by anything he'd ever seen. It was only natural that he would see these things, for he had felt more than enough of it to detect even the slightest signs of it in another. Despite what many thought, Formortiis was indeed a terrible master… but he found some sort of enjoyment in teaching others what could not be taught by mortality. Apparently, he found some sort of perverse pleasure, knowing that, when he killed the soul of the original inhabitant, he destroyed the only strain of mankind to know the full depths of the demonic prowess.

"By my blood, I vowed my service to you. That debt has been paid." Leaning forward, the Moonstone drew the dagger once more, this time forcing it quickly across the skin covering the back of his left hand. He allowed the blood to pool slowly down his hand as Riev continued to hold the prisoner upright while Valter's now cut left hand continued to hold the gem of his namesake to his prince's forehead. The scarlet drops beaded at the source of the injury before leaking downwards, staining the stone a dark crimson in a path as a single stream of blood coursed down its smooth side. Without allowing the blood to fall from the surface of the stone, he forced Lyon's hand above the stone before repeating the process.

"By your blood, you vowed to pay; a price that will allow me to obtain that which I desire. That debt… is to be paid in full." Swiftly pulling the dagger across the teen's wrist, he heard the orchid-haired member of nobility hiss in pain as his thin flesh gave way to the small torrent of blood that seeped out from the clean cut. Feeling the skin around the cut scream in pain whenever he moved it, Lyon instead opted to stay still, lest he make the pain worsen with his struggles. Closing his eyes tightly, he knew what he had to do if he was to get out of his own castle alive… he had to comply.

"And today… the debt is done, the blood repaid. And so…" Lyon struggled to finish, knowing full well what would happen if he concluded his speech… and yet, he knew that the frailty of his flesh would eventually force him to do it, as well. Valter was no stranger to torture, and he would frequently hear the screams of his captives at night while he struggled to sleep with a dual presence in his mind…

_Eirika… I'm sorry! For my weakness… and for letting it go this far. Forgive me! _Letting a pair of crystalline tears escape from the corners of his eyes, he finished the oath he dreaded ever having to take in the first place.

"…Let it be done." A brilliant light shone forth from the stone before suddenly ceasing, with the opaque surface of the gemstone quickly metamorphosing into a deep scarlet hue. It was then that the prince began to scream in pain… a tearing at his heart began; growing from within, it seemed to be drawn painfully outward. The stone continued this painful process, struggling to obtain a sample of his quintessence with no concern as to whether or not the subject in question died in the process. It was only then that Valter could see what had been invisible to him before; brilliant strings of emerald light, which gently held the prince in their protective grasp, were now being pulled towards the stone. The very essence of life itself seemed to try to hold the prince in an almost paternal manner, and continued to hold on despite the force of the stone. The Moonstone general now understood the pain that was associated with the pull of quintessence, and reveled at the very sight of it.

Grinning in an almost sadistic manner at the prince's agony, he grasped the stone tighter, pushing it further into his already aching ribcage. Throwing back his head and yelling in agony, Lyon felt as if the very soul that he had struggled so hard to keep was being torn from him, and with strength unrivaled in its ferocity and greed. To feel this was the equivalent of having a scorching hot dagger being dragged across one' arm; as if the pain of the blade was not enough to make the prey struggle against tears of pain, the victim was left reeling from the agony and discomfort, brought on by the cauterizing of the wound and the accompanying stench of burnt flesh. And so it was when Valter paused, seemingly disappointed, as Lyon suddenly sagged in Riev's grasp. From the boy's chest wars torn both a gasp of pain as well as a swirl of emerald light, whose absence left the teen utterly helpless within Riev's vice-like grip.

Seeing as the crown prince was now nothing but dead weight, the bishop proceeded to drop the robed figure, as he was far more interested in the now pulsating stone that Valter held in his grasp. While Riev saw nothing but a brilliant gemstone, Valter saw what lay beneath and around its material beauty. Its former pearly sheen had all but disappeared, even to the naked eye, and had instead been replaced with a dark violet undertone. The very life energy of the prince now lay within his grasp… or, at least, enough of it to sustain his newly gained power for some time.

Swirling around its spherical form was a single coil of quintessence, as well as several wisps that had chanced to come along with it. Wrapping itself around this new facet, it quickly surrounded the gem, spreading apart into a multitude of thinner strands before settling down; forming its own swirling pattern, the life energy swirled lazily in a thin haze about the gem, just as clouds move about the earth. Smiling once again, Valter grasped the gem in his hand before testing his newfound energy, letting the quintessence from the stone snake about his body momentarily.

The resulting glow proved too much for the former bishop's eyes, causing him to snarl slightly from the pain and surprise before shielding his vision with his large sleeves. Cloaking his eyes momentarily, he found that the light lasted for a second at the most before dissipating into nothingness. Cautiously moving his shielding arm from his eyes, as Riev did not wish to be momentarily blinded again, he found that the strangest sight greeted his eyes. Before him now stood someone he knew… Valter was now garbed in different clothes, with his armor now seemingly replaced by long, flowing robes that would have normally not suited his appearance. But now…

Turning around to face the prince on the floor, Valter moved forward, kneeling down to pull Lyon's face from the stones of the floor. Grasping the boy's chin as he moved his face to look at his, he paid no heed to the trickle of blood that ran down the true prince's face that had resulted from Riev's cruel drop of his head to the floor… rather, he ignored all else but the prince's features, and almost wished that he could see the predicament he was in now. He stared at the teen's milky white skin, so smooth and pure, and almost longed for his violet eyes to open to meet his. The orchid strands of hair now drifted carelessly before his eyes as they briefly fluttered open, widening in shock at what met them.

"Wha…?" Lyon could barely speak, let alone put his shock into words as he stared at Valter's face, which now exactly mirrored his own. It was the last he saw until his vision swam, swirling like a myriad of whirlpools before his eyes… then, everything went dark.

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The large, intimidating figure of the blonde monarch of Bern stood in all his regal and majestic glory atop one of the large, sand-covered dunes that held the best view of the grand palace in Jehanna. The sun, though blazing in all its malicious glory, seemed to have no effect on the overall demeanor of the emperor, who stood unaffected by the searing heat while still being clothed in his large, heavy robes. Beside him stood two of his most trusted 'friends': Idoun, who was clothed in her traditional, large black cloak, and Brenya, one of his precious Dragon Generals. Each of them stood prone, staring directly at the desert palace, with all of them appearing to be immune to the heat (though the Dragon General admittedly seemed to be struggling with the onset of hyperthermia). The temperature of the atmosphere seemed to be around the range for the hatching of a fire drakling's egg (the modern equivalent being roughly 115 degrees Fahrenheit), while the heat of the sand soared to the temperature needed to render metal virtually untouchable to exposed flesh (roughly 130 degrees Fahrenheit). And yet, despite these environmental hardships, Zephiel knew he had already waited far too long for his attack.

Admittedly, the Moonstone and Tiger Eye's attack on Jehanna Hall had left an extraordinary amount of damage to its structure… and yet, they had failed to kill the queen inside. They had been rudely interrupted before the Tiger Eye could successfully find Jehanna's Sacred Stone, and so the hero had caught the structure ablaze in an attempt to crush the stone beneath its own fortress's weight; even then, the stone remained safe, especially since the majority of the castle's mainframe survived the fire. Zephiel could only assume that the queen's spared life had meant that they could not pry the information from her lips, and that she was still the only one capable of telling them where the mysterious rock lay. It figured that the former Jehannan mercenary could not kill her immediately, what with his rather infamous streak involving beautiful prisoners he had obtained in combat. He was rather surprised that a mere distraction such as the Princess of Renais would be adequate to turn his attention away from Ismaire… or, perhaps, the Queen of the White Dunes simply lacked something that the other princess had.

_Maybe this is how she had survived this long_, Zephiel thought. _If she could remain hidden… unforeseen as any sort of threat to the others of her kind… yes, perhaps this is why she is still alive, as is Idoun._ Turning briefly to meet the priestess's odd-colored eyes, he could only be met with the cold and obedient gaze of a servant to her master. Even though he longed to see her exhibit some sort of emotion… rather, to hear some sort of verbal signal that would tell him that her mind still could function on her own… he knew he would never live to see it. And yet, that is part of the reason why he obtained her in the first place, despite the hardships that Hartmut's seal had proven to break.

Turning towards the magic user of the Dragon Generals, Zephiel only motioned his head towards the dunes behind him, which immediately drew a nod from his loyal warrior. Brenya bowed deeply, understanding his silent command; to assure no one would arrive to ambush her Emperor from behind, she would stay outside, keeping watch for enemy soldiers while simultaneously making sure that the cretin known as the Tiger Eye did not encroach on the territory he had lost through his failure.

If Gheb had been any reflection of a Grado Gemstone General, it would have to be what Caellach would likely have pointed to for his origins as a mercenary. Yes, led by power and strength but fueled by their own hormones and hungers, both had lusted for financial gain and personal strength, thus leading him to be the man he was now… but, as with most mercenaries of his time, he did not simply emerge as an up-and-coming hero, but rather as one who had just recovered from a metaphorical illness. He had gone through several 'down' periods… only, Caellach went through them mentally, rather than physically, as the rather obese Grado general had done. Though Zephiel didn't care to show it, both Idoun and her emperor had easily seen through the hero's apparent ruse of strength; for beneath the man who wore the skin of a tiger laid a cold-skinned cretin – a pathetic yet hideous monster covered in emotional scars that were virtually covering his body. It was enough to disgust Zephiel, considering that he had already seen one yellow-bellied coward in his own militia… though Narshen had indeed been taken care of, and by Gale's lover Miledy, no less, the thought of the heinous coward having served under him still made his stomach turn sour with distaste.

Slowly moving towards the castle with one wave of soldiers numbering almost forty in number, Zephiel allowed them to move ahead. The orders were simple; capture the Queen of the White Dunes, and keep her alive for questioning. This was as much of a test for his soldiers as it was of this secretive woman… surely she would not have been entrusted with such a powerful stone if she could not fight to protect it? All of Jehanna's militia had disintegrated, especially since her own Royal Guard had turned against her, and there was no way to obtain mercenary help unless she put herself out into the open. This he could not understand… by hiding, was this proud Jehannan queen a coward? Or was she simply waiting for the opportune moment to strike?

His answer came relatively quickly as his men filed into the halls, with the sudden screams of pain alerting him to the bloodshed that occurred within the stone halls. Though he expected to have to rebuke his army for striking out at the Queen, he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was not she who bled, but rather his own men. Using the weather to her advantage – for she was accustomed to the harsh, dry desert climate – she drew the men into the sun, where their endurance was severely hindered by the blistering heat and the bright glare that blinded them. Standing to the side while appearing completely emotionless, Zephiel studied her movements, quickly making the connection to this woman's swordplay and the sword masters' art in Sacae.

As with the plainsmen in the East, this woman fought with the grace of a dancer; using the technique of the edge rather than the brute strength of the blade, her speed and finesse allowed her to easily fillet his men like fish, leaving many of the inexperienced ones twitching on the stone ground while holding their sticky crimson entrails in their grasp. Blood did not flow in small rivulets with this woman, but rather in torrential rivers of scarlet that continuously rushed down her enemies' flesh. Striking in the most efficient way possible, her dance of death often landed on the foes' throats, soft abdominal tissues, or their wrists, to prevent them from holding their weapons while assuring that they would still bleed to death. Every stroke of her blade rendered at least one man dead or at least mortally wounded with the severing of some vital vein or artery… a frightfully efficient warrior, indeed. At last Zephiel understood why this woman could rise to become queen in a nation primarily composed of mercenaries… she had most likely been able to best the mightiest of the proud warriors in combat in order to win the respected hand of her husband in times past. Even now, though slightly out-of-practice, she nevertheless continued her technique as if it had been only a few years after she had lain down her blade, rather than almost two decades later.

Moving back as the sheer number of men forced her into the throne room, she resorted to her lesser-known stratagems, used only in case of emergencies. Reaching her right hand into a pocket hidden from her foes while continuing to hold the curved blade Shamshir in her left, she drew forth a small, leather pouch. On it in gold thread was branded the Seal of Jehanna, thus labeling it as hers and hers alone. Quickly sheathing her sword, she drew forth a dagger instead, thus eliciting guffaws of disbelief from her foes.

"She must be mad!" Several of the men laughed, pointing at her seemingly suicidal action. No warrior, woman or not, could take out an entire army with just a small, ornamental dagger! Surely she knew that… _Either that_, some of them thought,_ or surely her blade is too heavy now for her exhausted arms! About time, too._

Resisting to let a sly smirk cross her lips, she threw the pouch into the air, above the heads of her enemy before throwing her dagger at it with as much accuracy as she wielded her blade. As the dagger sang through the air, she drew her blood-smeared Shamshir once again, this time more for intimidation than actually fighting… striking the leather surface and easily breaking it, the translucent powder inside fell upon the heads of the opposing army, and on their faces when they looked up to see just what she had thrown a pouch at them for. Quite frankly, it was the last thing they ever saw.

It had been the accidental work of some of her attendants that had given birth to the strange powder… they had crystallized a powerful acid quite on accident, and found that, when pulverized into a powder, it created the same effect of its liquid form when sprinkled onto any sort of moisture… including that found on the human skin and mucous membranes. As such, the men felt their skin burning with contact, and those who had looked up were greeted with the powder dissolving into their tears, saliva, and the mucous that lay in their nostrils… in other words, they quickly became blinded by the acid eating away at the sensitive tissues of their eyes, could no longer smell the overpowering stench of blood in their noses, and could feel their tongues writhing in pain within their now acid-filled mouths. She stood at a distance, watching the powder's descent carefully while listening to the Bernian soldiers scream in agony… she did not want to move in too soon, lest she be incapacitated by her own weapon. She knew that she had built up a relatively high tolerance to it (considering one or two relatively miniscule mishaps in the past left her blind for a week apiece), but she still felt much of the pain. Considering their bloodcurdling shrieks as men turned their blades on each other in an attempt to find her, she knew that the pain they were giving each other was more than adequate; she would simply stand by, await the final descent of the powder, then move in for the kill.

Strangely, though, she heard a loud roar, beckoning them to move back… more confusing than this was the soldiers' aghast reaction to it, as if such an order was sheer lunacy. Nevertheless, they obeyed, filing back through the halls as best as they could, following the sound of their emperor's voice while continuing to mew in pain and fear. At long last, when the last of them had dissipated, the man who issued the order moved forward, with only one unarmed man beside him. He appeared to be a normal shaman of sorts, bearing the same black robes… but something was strangely amiss. He seemed to lack the dark aura of the black magisters, and had no tome with him to fight. Why would a man garbed in magnificent robes choose to associate with someone of such apparently low rank? Nevertheless, they both moved forward, with the smaller man only moving slightly behind the emperor.

Looking upon her, he noted why Caellach had been so… distracted by her, to say the least. He noted her beauty, but was not moved by it… much as he noticed her skill with the blade, but took no precautions against it. Confident in his own ability to defend himself, and on her honor to not strike out at an opposing general without first hearing him out. She already held her Shamshir at her side, rather than in a position ready to strike; she was willing to hear him out, but certainly not unarmed. Stopping only two feet away from her, Zephiel allowed his height and large stature to loom over her with the intimidation factor of an enraged Berserker, standing before a mere Pegasus Knight. Though indeed taken aback, Ismaire refused to budge; her pride would not let her flinch before him.

"Ismaire, Queen of Jehanna… I have been sent to retrieve the Sacred Stone from your possession. If you should not disclose the location to me, I shall see that the mighty Palace of the Sands will stand no longer." He felt like scum, resorting to such threats, but nevertheless, he required the destruction of the Stone if his dream was ever to be realized. It had to be done, even at the expense of his pride.

"…This palace shall never fall. And neither shall you ever lay hands on the Stone." Having heard more than enough, Ismaire leapt forward, striking out at the Emperor… however, moving his staff in front of him, he effectively stopped her assault. Smirking, he did not even turn his head before barking his order.

"She has not agreed… let us leave, Idoun." And, just like that, the priestess ran from behind a stone pillar, touching his cloak lightly in her delicate hands. In a mere moment, the two of them were gone, leaving Ismaire standing alone in the castle with the unarmed, cloaked figure. Looking cautiously at him, she noted that, where he had appeared to be completely at a loss for magic before, she could feel the waves of anima magic flowing off of him… It was strange, indeed; a man, dressed as a shaman, could wield anima, as well? Drawing her blade, she was determined to cut just this one last man down, as a reminder to the proud emperor that he was not invincible, and neither was his army. She would teach him to leave her with an unarmed shaman… it was a slap to her face, that she would find this man a challenge…

"…" Just as she approached striking distance, a brilliant column of fire swiftly enveloped the man, spiraling up until it almost struck the ceiling of her majestic palace before expanding ever outward. Quickly leaping backwards and rather taken aback, Ismaire could only shield her eyes with her sleeve as she felt the furnace-like heat blast her flesh… her skin was almost burning, despite the fact that she had not been touched by the blaze. Looking back up when the fire dissipated, Ismaire's ruby eyes widened in indescribable fear as she met the golden eyes of the terror that stood before her.

It can't be… it's not… Unable to move from fear-induced paralysis from the mere presence of the man now - for he was no longer a man - she was quickly greeted with its wide-opening maw, which was now wide enough to consume the greatest of cyclopsi with a single snap of its jaws. From the deep, dark depths of its throat, she could hear its mighty roar, followed by the searing, unforgiving heat that had been only felt once before in the lands of Elibe. She felt her flesh char and tear away, but could still not close her eyes until said organs were scorched painfully from their sockets, rendering her sight and life dim forevermore. 

Even the mighty Queen of the White Dunes stood no chance against the might of the mythical beast, proven true when, as promised, her proud palace fell to the ground, lit ablaze by the creature's flames. As the beams fell, her body was crushed… and so too was the mystical Stone of Jehanna. The resulting crash could be heard for miles, and could be seen from twice as far as the dark plumes of smoke reached greedily into the sky…

Roaring one last time, the Battle Dragon raised its jaw towards the sky before returning to its subdued form, allowing all evidence of its destruction to bear down upon it, crushing his frail shell of a body while hiding every connection he had to this place. His task was done, and so now was his life.

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Watching as the palace collapsed and seeing the flash of the destroyed Stone, Zephiel turned from the ruined palace before moving towards the Pontifex of Rausten. For only it and Renais's stone remained… only those two blocked his conquest. Motioning to Brenya, he bade her follow as Idoun only stared blankly ahead, watching as a seemingly unholy ritual took place just beyond her companions' range of vision.

It appeared that Nergal's morphs were to return, after all.

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- The acid I was referring to is similar in strength to hydrochloric acid… ever been burned by that stuff? It's quite painful. Not to mention that, when highly concentrated like this (though I'm not sure turning it into powder is actually possible without freeze-drying… let's assume Fimbulvetr, shall we?), the only thing diluting one of the strongest acids in the world is your own tears and sweat.


	11. Chapter 10

(A.N.: Chapter 9x is a lemon. I haven't uploaded it, but I can send it to you if you want to read it. Drop me a note or a review. Careful, though- it's graphic.

This chapter is meant to unwind a bit from the trauma presented in chapter 9x, so to speak. So, while the information in the first half is vital to the plot (somewhat ), you'll find that it's given in a much lighter tone than some of its predecessors.

In other words: Is there drama? Yes. Is there more stupid humor than other chapters? Yeah. Is it downright hilarious? …No. It wasn't meant to be that funny, mind you. Just more relaxed, that's all. However: this will change drastically towards the second half of the chapter, which will be darker than all the previous chapters. Sorry about the late update, guys. I have another seven or so chapters written up, so I should get one up for every review or so I get. Thanks for being patient!)

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Ch. 10: Misconceptions

"_Frailty, thy name is woman." Certainly, no more foolish a phrase has ever been invented by the male psyche, and its idiocy perhaps will remain forever unmatched by society. Via trials and tribulations, I find that the women are sometimes pulling more weight than the men, as strange as that sounds… however, had one told me that but a year ago, I would have responded in turn by laughing such an apparent fool from my sight. Wendy and Amelia are faring well, and are continuing to recover in the medical wing of the castle; I have assured that Frelia's finest priests and clerics were responsible for their treatment. Wendy has escaped generally unscathed (Though the status of her pride is in question; even Bors has been unable to speak to her.), but Amelia will be left forevermore with a rather unsightly scar in her side; the hatchet wound was healed and has left no mark, but the mark of the blade that the blue-haired warrior held proved to be too much for healing staves to completely erase. _

_Wil and Wolt have had their hands healed, and they have been fully reprimanded by Princess L'Arachel herself (I'd say that for pity's sake I'd feel 'sorry' for the former, but that teenager's incessant cacophony has rendered me unable to muster any sort of sympathy for the likes of him. Wolt and his worrying mother, however, have my pity. Her husband is fretting about the boy, as well… and it's affected his cooking, sadly enough.), and Ross will probably never hear the end of this little escapade from Lute and Serra, who had healed his injuries. I am fairly surprised that I have seen no sign of rejoicing from Erk, Rennac, and Rutger yet; perhaps they're in hiding once again, hoping that this time, they won't be found by their 'retainers' (Though that in itself is highly unlikely. I rather hope they're found; they are seen by the entirety of the camp as scapegoats for the cause.). At the very least, the company's wounds have gotten at least several troublemakers out of my hair; after Ephraim and the other lords are through speaking with me, I'm fairly sure that I won't need another nagging voice reprimanding me for my… miscalculations._

_Not surprisingly, Raven has proven too stubborn to allow anyone to heal him, with the exception of his beloved sister or effeminate monk… I dare say, he may be almost as stubborn as others claim me to be. _

…_Almost being the key word. Despite my claims on the contrary, I'm fairly sure that Ephraim would never budge on his views on my alleged 'stubbornness'. All that goes to show is that he's a bloody hypocrite… and I certainly won't budge on that fact, either. _

_Eirika has been… rather withdrawn, lately. I wonder what's bothering her… and there was that note that she left on her door this morning, as well. So that could only mean she's gone for a few hours… not that I'm concerned or anything. No, certainly not. To say otherwise is utter blasphemy, though Eliwood and Lyndis seem keen on mercilessly firing off false accusations on a claim that has no foundation in reality. Perhaps associating with foreigners has had a negative impact on the camp, after all. _

_Ah, yes… foreigners. I still wonder… what of that man, who stabbed Amelia? Surely, all the tremors he went through after collapsing to the ground could only mean that he had to have died from… something. But what? The severity of the man' seizures seem to he unmatched in all of my healers' sightings… a strange case, indeed. Then there's the disappearance of the body… as far as I'm aware, corpses of foreign princes don't dissolve into the ground like shadows before slithering off to who-knows-where. Perhaps one of the druids could replicate that form of transportation. They keep on saying that it's an ancient magic, though, preceding the teachings of modern druids… what could it be?_

…_Bah. I don't know why I bother writing in this book, anyway. I must tell Eirika about the frivolity of keeping a journal when she returns from who-knows-where… who could have ever given that woman such a foolish idea, anyway? Surely no one from our Frelian army… no one has the lack of sense required to keep a journal, let alone recommend such an atrocity to others. Whoever thought of spreading such a plague should be shot with a full quiver of arrows._

_-Innes, Prince of Frelia._

"Eliwood. Eliwood? Milord… where are you?" A small voice rang out as the entirety of the army settled down once again, this time taking up shelter within the Frelian castle. To the great relief of all who had seen the king's deteriorating condition, their lord Hayden had made a speedy recovery after having been found, strained from stress and hiding in the armory. Had Innes not been with them, the bowman king would not have hesitated to pepper the army with arrows before slicing at them with his scimitar, resulting in even more unnecessary bloodshed while also endangering his own life in the process. Luckily, however, Innes had taken the front, insisting in his headstrong manner that he should confront anyone who had dared invade his castle, who had the audacity to attack the king, and now prevented him from bringing his two comrades, Wendy and Amelia, to safety.

Now, she was happy for the successful treatment of her friends, glad that the king was safe, and grateful that they now had a place to spend the night… however, all the petite mamkute wished to do was to find her ever-elusive husband within the seemingly endless corridors of the Frelian castle. She'd never seen such an elaborate system of hallways, and never had she expected to get lost within an ally's castle! Magvelian castles were built far differently from Elibe's, she noticed, taking note of the labyrinth-esque halls and the shorter rooms that made up the estate. Letting her crimson eyes gaze upward towards the ceiling, Ninian noted that there was no way she could revert to her dragon self within the castle without serious consequences to her mobility; she would be lucky if, when simply sitting down in her true form, her head did not chafe against the bricks that lined the top of the room… and chafing scales were ever so uncomfortable.

She dimly recalled the day she had first transformed within Castle Pherae… she had been dreadfully ill with the Ilian strain of influenza, which had rendered her frail human form weak and feeble from the high fevers and muscle tremors it caused to the victims. She had lost control over her human form in the midst of it all, and the stress she was experiencing activated her Dragonstone… needless to say, she recovered quickly after that, (what with her original ability to resist most Ilian-borne diseases… she was rather surprised that her human form had been susceptible to such an illness!) but would never quite shake the look of shock and concern on her husband's face when he saw his wife's serpentine head, popping out of the castle via the shingles of the roof. He had had a lot of explaining to do to the Lycian League after that, and certainly had many bribes to pay to keep the loose-tongued mouths shut.

But that was the past. Now, she had to deal with the troublesome present. While it certainly wasn't a disadvantage to travel with another army, it was quite the distressing scenario indeed for the dragoness; she had no idea who these new recruits were, let alone whether or not they held ulterior motives. After all, she had learned enough from the likes of Legault that appearances were quite deceptive; while formerly a member of the Black Fang, he had ended up being a turncoat to help their cause. How was she to know that she would not be betrayed again, as Nergal had done to her as soon as she and her brother had entered the realm of Elibe? Keeping her wits about her as she traversed the halls, she was not at all surprised when she ran into another member of the now-larger army, perched atop a small wooden stool while appearing to look straight into a stone wall. Her curiosity, having been quite effectively piqued by this eccentric behavior (for no dragon had done such a thing before, and she was fairly sure that grown humans did not do so either on a regular basis…), urged her to move towards the long-haired warrior, watching as they peered into a normal, solid wall.

"E…excuse me?" She asked feebly, watching as the otherwise distracted person merely waved her off lazily with one hand, brushing back some of the long locks of violet hair behind them. Ninian heard the soft, guttural grunt that Karla often gave to those he wished to ignore; a huffing sort of noise, mixed with a growl to create a noise that offered no other explanation other than the desire to be left alone. Rather than adhere to the person's wishes, however, her curiosity bade her continue standing there- she would not make anymore noise, but she certainly had to see what was so intriguing about… stones. The warrior's long, silky locks of deep violet tumbled down from their head to their waist, with the waviness accenting the warrior's muscles while also hiding their face from view… well, that, as well as the wall that now seemed to be grabbing the person's nose. A baggy shirt hung over their torso, hanging loosely around the person's body while retaining only tatters for sleeves; either it was an intentional pair of tears, or they were quite unfortunate with their traveling habits when traversing through rough woods (For trees often snagged the clothing of unwary travelers… Ninian, Tethys, and Lalum all especially had problems with that.). However, it is said that one can almost 'feel' the gaze of another staring at them, and so it was; after Ninian had been staring at the sitting battalion unit for a few minutes, the irritated warrior turned, with a grimace of impatience, irritation, and confusion spread over their face. It was only then that the teal-haired girl saw the small hole in the stone, but that certainly wasn't what mainly captured her attention.

"What're you staring at? Ya got a problem?" An arched brow from the warrior met the stunned girl's shocked gaze as the girl's eyes widened significantly at her new revelation. Quickly double-taking the baritone of his voice, Ninian resisted the urge to gasp in shock upon realizing that the voice that escaped the warrior's lips was male, rather than the female one she expected… yes, the man was certainly toned and rippling with muscle, but she hadn't seen a man with hair so long since Lucius (who she also confused for a female specimen); not to mention that Echidna had been more than offended to hear that she had earlier expected the hero to be male! What with the woman's large, muscled arms, masculine appearance, her ability to socialize well around burly men, and her short hair, it was little wonder that the wife of Marquess Pherae had been taken aback, just as she was now. Her gender guessing had been rather off lately, but she certainly hadn't expected this. She had known from the first instant that this had to be a blood relative of some sort to Geitz, but…

Truthfully, the dragoness had expected this man to be Geitz's sister… not a brother.

"N-no! I-I was just…." She replied, utterly flustered. Feeling the embarrassment catch up to her like a raging fire catches a fleeing snail, she could not help it when the telltale signs of a blush crept over her face; not one of attraction, they both knew, but one that clearly told the other, 'I'm so embarrassed, I could die. Give me the Durendal any day; I'd probably be better off.'

"Watching me, right? Didn't think I was that good lookin'." The warrior joked, smirking at the poor girl's dilemma. He had often seen the strange looks of the passers-by as they strolled down the halls, wondering why he was staring at the walls…. However, this had been the first time that anyone had actually approached him, let alone appeared embarrassed about something. He wasn't quite sure what he had done to spark the girl's embarrassment, but he couldn't help but rub the humiliation in the girl's face for whatever amount of time possible. It wasn't often that one had the chance to manipulate the mindset of the first lady of Pherae, after all.

"Y-yes, but… I mean, no! I just wanted to find my husband, Eliwood. Have you seen him?" The first half of her sentence felt like some sort of monstrous waterfall, gushing forth words she did not mean to say as if gravity were driving every syllable of her thoughts out of her mind through her mouth… certainly not what she had meant to do. The second half of her sentences came out in a rush, too, but at least she had put some thought into it before she let the floodgates open, so to speak.

"Eh? Yeah. He's at the West Wing; take the corridor to the left, and it's the third door to the right. You can't miss it. Oh, and if Echidna's still miffed at your mistake, tell her that I said, 'Look, apparently I'm a songbird now. You're not the only ugly duckling.' I mean, wow… I'll tell you what, there's not ugly ducklings in this steam room, let me tell you that. I'd let you have a peek, but you're a girl… probably aren't interested in seeing the same sex, are ya?" Chuckling mischievously, Geese turned around once more, waving at her with his hands as if to say, 'All right, the show's over. Hurry along, now.'; a sign she had often used with Roy when he was younger. Giggling a bit herself as she followed his directions, she forgot all about her embarrassment before walking down the corridors with a sense of confidence she hadn't felt in ages. Smiling, she broke into a run, hoping to at least catch her elusive mate before he went to a meeting of some sort…

Quickly turning the first left that the warrior had given her, the frail dancer was suddenly greeted with a strange feeling as she collided with someone… dread. She knew the moment she fell to the ground whose angry yell now rose up from the stone, and whose silver hair now lay strain about the warrior's head as the woman struggled to gain her bearings once again. As if insulting the burly hero wasn't enough, the thin-framed girl was now left with the rather uncomfortable realization that she had caused the same hero to become reacquainted with terra firma; something that she could tell that the bandana-wearing warrior wasn't pleased with.

Growling slightly, Echidna reached up a gloved hand, rubbing the place of impact on her skull while hissing obscenities under her breath; she felt the fresh roar of pain, peeling back the flesh covering every nerve before it raked said nerves cruelly with its claws. She knew she wasn't bleeding… that was always a good thing. Turning to see who had run into her, however, a rather disgruntled look replaced the grimace of pain that had just moments ago distorted her features into that of a feral beast.

"Oh. It's you again." She said, keeping her voice as perfectly monotone as possible. What good was it to voice irritation, after all, if the sword could speak volumes? However, she knew of this girl's rank, and so all thoughts of bloodshed fled from her mind… not that she'd let the dancer know, of course. As planned, Ninian looked almost ready to suffocate from self-induced lack of breathing; she was sitting so still and so frozen in fear, one could have wondered whether or not the woman was a dancer or a beautifully carved and crafted statue.

"Oh… oh! I… I… h-he wanted me to say… that purple-haired man…"

"Oh? What about him?" Echidna interrupted, her curiosity piqued. She knew the man well, and was quite surprised to hear that anyone other than the burliest of warriors had associated with him… it would be interesting to hear what he had to say through this girl, to say the least. Had he scared her, perhaps bullying her into saying something for him that would embarrass her? Had she caught him in a compromising situation, but knew enough about Echidna's plight to make her do his bidding (blackmail of sorts…)? Either that, or perhaps he just wanted to see if the girl would play 'messenger pigeon' with him (Similar to the game now known as 'telephone'; only, since there are no technological advances, they often used homing pigeons to communicate; thus, the same game with a different name was created, instead.). Most likely it was the latter; though a strong pirate with many a kill beneath his belt, he was generally good-natured, despite what many thought.

"He…he said… 'Look, apparently I'm a… songbird, now. You're not the only… only…'" Catching herself before she let slip the 'ugly duckling' comment, Echidna nevertheless beamed in understanding, abandoning her formerly stormy demeanor for a hearty laugh that rang through the halls, scaring both dancer and passers-by alike. Upon ceasing several moments later, the silver-haired hero smirked a bit before leaning down to see the shorter girl, eye to eye.

"Ah, you turned Geese into a girl, eh? I told him it would happen one day, what with his long hair and all… that's what probably covered up his Adam's apple, eh?" Laughing her booming laugh once again, Ninian quickly excused herself before slipping into the room that her husband currently occupied, slamming the door shut behind herself before rubbing her temples gently with the pads of her fingertips. Who would have ever known that people of her own land could seem so… foreign? An odd couple, those two had been.

Looking at the audience she had just rudely interrupted, she was greeted with a shocking sight… Lyndis of Caelin was standing between two of the warriors, effectively separating the Frelian archer from the Ostian general with her large sword, the grand Sol Katti. Perspiration graced her brow, causing her tanned skin to shimmer slightly in the light as she visually strained against the strength of her former companion. Hector as well had his mythical weapon drawn, with the sheer size of Armads almost completely overshadowing that of the female marquess's weapon.

Eliwood was struggling, as well, preventing Innes from firing his bow as well as keeping the man from stabbing anyone with his quiver full of sharp, deadly arrows; though the margin of strength was far greater between Lyndis and Hector, the ruby haired lord found himself with a greater challenge… rather than facing a strong but boorish oaf, he found himself fighting a fox. Innes was faster, more clever, and apparently had more malice than the redheaded lord's friend had within him; not to mention that he was better armed with a more versatile array of weapons than Hector would have bothered carrying. When he found that his quiver was now detrimental at this point, since the arrows now lay strewn about him on the floor, his hand immediately flew to the dagger on his waist. Ephraim quickly knocked all the arrows out of his friend's reach, and kept between the battling lords as a last barrier… for he knew that his attempts to aid either side would result in him simply getting in the way of the pacifists. A cry of alarm leapt from Ninian's throat at the sight of the impending bloodshed, she knew she could wait no longer to cease the potential violence.

Barely touching the sapphire stone that she held within a small pocket along the side of her turquoise dress, the dragoness's eyes flared open into orbs of ruby fury as she allowed just her vocal chords to change into what they truly were… the powerful ones of an ice dragon. Taking in a deep breath before clenching her eyes shut as she continued to hear them struggle, she let out all her fear and frustration in one thunderous scream, watching the effects of such a noise unfold before her.

_Stop it! All of you… just stop it_! It is often said that a drgaon's scream is a noise unrivaled… a sound of pure emotion, whether it be horrendous pain, blinding hatred, unbridled malice, heart wrenching despair, immeasurable fear, or inexplicable joy. The same intense scream that could knock over fully armored generals when in dragon form could also inflict physical damage, even in her weakened human state. The tall windows that lined part of the walls shattered, littering the ground in millions of shards of beauteous glass of all hues. The light played off of each facet, filtering rainbows through each transparent piece while reflecting the respective hues of the stained glass that was displaced by the sheer magnitude of the high-pitched screech. Both man and woman alike shielded the ears as the vibrations caused by her cry washed over them, rendering their sense of hearing virtually nil and causing their heads to collectively ring with the aftereffects of the scream. Humans could not understand her draconic tongue, but they would not have been able to decipher it, even if it was in their native language; the sheer volume would render just about any noise indiscernible.

In fact, had Eliwood not raced forward to hold his frightened wife in his arms, she might have never ceased until her lungs literally oozed blood as a result of burst capillaries in her throat… such was the stress she experienced as a result of the accumulation of all the events that had happened that day. Eirika's disappearance, her getting lost throughout the castle, the news of the injured army members, the rather unfortunate culinary experience she had had in the morning (ill-prepared seafood is poisonous, after all; Lowen's stress had caused him to slip up quite a bit.), Geese and Echidna's encounters, and now the fighting between the lords… it was more than she could bear, and yelling had been the only way to simultaneously release her stress and cease the last problem. While it certainly did nothing to aid the other problems (especially the injured members of the enlarged army… if they were not hurt enough already, a migraine ought to have made their day), she certainly felt better afterwards. The same could not be said of her companions.

Ephraim nursed his right ear more than his left, since that was the side that had faced the dragon when she had loosed her potentially deafening call. Removing the ebony glove from his right hand, he raised his now bare fingers to his lobe, feeling the pads of his fingers growing damp as he ran it over the inside of his ear… withdrawing it, he saw a fair amount of blood staining the hills and valleys of flesh that encompassed the vast majority of his fingertips. It certainly wasn't enough for him to lose his hearing, but more than adequate to elicit a fairly sharp pain from within his inner ear. The same could be said of Lyndis, who was far more accustomed to a virtually silent life on the plains… only, unlike the Prince of Renais, the emerald-haired lady found herself with an uncomfortably soft world from her left ear and a silent one in the right. She was now legally deaf… at least, temporarily speaking. It was nothing a healer could not fix.

Hector and Innes both reeled from the force of the noise, with each man suffering from a minor sense of vertigo as a result; not enough to knock either asunder, however. It was simply enough to rattle their nerves, and give them a brief glimpse at apprehension; if such an obnoxious and obviously detrimental noise was going to be the result of their conflict, perhaps it would be to their mutual benefit to back down…

Of course, their pride being as it was, each patiently waited for the other to step down.

Eliwood, having heard the scream more than enough times at his home palace in Pherae, seemed the least phased of the lot…. But that didn't mean he was completely impervious to her loud vocal chords, either. While his ears rang from the verbal attack and he could feel the vague beginnings of a headache, he nevertheless did his best to reassure her; after all, she had accomplished what she was after. The fighting had ceased, and there apparently was to be no more impending bloodshed among them… it was sad, though, that it took a dragon's scream and now almost-deaf lords to convince them into a peace that should have been forged well enough without it.

Just as he was about to ask her whether or not she was okay, three women burst into the room, with each looking very disgruntled indeed.

"Well, I never!" Serra pouted, rubbing her ears while still managing to have time to fiddle with her pink pigtails.

"That was so… irritating!" Clarine screeched, continuing to use a healing staff to relieve the ringing pain in her ears.

"You should be ashamed of yourself! How would the world live without the Princess of Peerless Beauty?!" L'arachel began, watching as the two men who knew her shook their heads sadly. Giving her a dismissive look, Innes tried to get her to leave solely through intimidation… though, considering the crowd that they accompanied on a regular basis, none of the three would be likely to be scared away that easily.

Elliwood made a mental note to himself which direction the three liberated men ran off to, as he watched Rennac, Rutgar, and Erk rush past the door. All were clearly in a hurry to try to lose their terrorists, but each knew, deep down, that they would be hunted down eventually. It must have been a sad life, for the three of them; always on the run, not unlike wild stag, who constantly watched their backs, lest they be hunted down by ravenous wolves or hungry archers… or, in this case, possessive women. At least they had their uses, which was proven with their prompt healing of their lordships' ears.

Soon afterward, Eliwood was able to fully focus on reassuring his shaking wife as the others focused on various tactics concerning how to remove the three incessant chatterboxes from their presence, lest their ears turn sour once again. They were grateful that they no longer hurt… that was for certain. However, it was the aftereffects that they were worried about, rather than the present (and welcome) relief.

"You three. Out." Lacking finesse, as usual, Hector gruffly pointed them towards the door while urging them out with a glare that challenged them to try otherwise… unfortunately for him, they didn't fall under his intimidating size and volume, but rather defied him openly with a chorus of high-pitched screeches.

"Some gratitude!" Serra huffed, turning up her nose as she usually did to him whenever he tried to order her around.

"Yeah! We could have left you here deaf, you know!" Clarine caterwauled, not even hearing Hector's comment of, 'I think we'd have been better off,' over the volume of her own voice.

"You should be honored! To have been healed by me, Princess L'arachel of the holy nation of Rausten… why, not many have experienced such a privalege! May Latona look down on you always for your ingratitude!" Turning around in a huff, she surprised everyone by leaving… she didn't feel that she needed to be there anymore, not to mention that one of her retainers had gone off and run away again. She swore that he did it, just to look coy… though the thief himself would have proclaimed adversely in his defense.

"Regardless…" Ephraim stated hesitantly, "We… did have a meeting in session, and a confidential one, at that. So, if you ladies wouldn't mind…" He said, motioning as Hector did towards the door. With the two remaining girls feeling as if they were not a whole unit without the daughter of the Rausten Pontifex, they too followed suit, leaving through the same door as she had before slamming it shut.

Not surprisingly, they spent the next few hours running around, working on healing all of the afflicted members of the now hearing-challenged army.

Letting a great sigh escape her lips, Lyndis ran a hand through her hair, being careful not to disturb her ponytail as she skimmed the top of her soft mane. Looking up, she appeared exponentially exhausted… a vast change from the sunny disposition and energy-rich air that had greeted the rest of the group when they had first congregated in the room. Despite this, she knew she had to do what had to be done. Letting loose one more sigh, she knew she was in for a long afternoon.

"So… shall we continue?"

--

"…Come on, Titania. That's a good girl." The emerald-haired pegasus knight cooed, gently pulling on the winged mare's reigns as she urged her to the small river that ran just beyond the castle's training grounds. It had been imperative when the castle was built to be close to water; after all, recruits needed to wash after training, horses needed to be watered, pegasi needed refreshment, and the denizens of the castle all needed to quench their thirst, as well. Coincidentally, that was just what Vanessa was doing; she was on water duty that day, sent to gather up the two wooden buckets she now held on a yoke, fill them with water, and return to the castle.

She did thank Latona, even through this arduous task; after all, she could have had to do this task alone. However, with the extra hands about, several members of the other army had offered to lend their strength, as well. As she expected, many of them had mounts to help them… but one or two of them had insisted on carrying the six-gallon buckets without the help of steeds! Two knights, Oswin and Barth, had insisted upon training using the weights; neither used their armor while doing so, and each had vowed to beat the other in a race back to the castle! She admired their steadfast courage, but wondered just how the two were going to avoid straining their backs in the process.

Sighing, she turned back to where she had left her pegasus, only to see that the mare had once again wandered off; only this time, she saw that her mount appeared to be in a state of shock; Titania whinnied in a distressed manner, and seemed to be torn between running away from her object of stress or to smash it underfoot. Vanessa, however, did not allow her to make such a decision, opting to pull her friend away from whatever had flustered her. This seemed to do the trick, though the pegasus seemed almost fixated on the form that occupied part of the forest floor… as if she recognized what it was, but something had been altered, almost to the point where it would be past recognition.

In the past, Titania had been frightened by very few things… the occasional Mauthe Doog's ambush, a sniper operating a ballista, and perhaps Lute, almost clawing to get at her wings; this frightened but simultaneously intrigued her owner. What could have possibly scared her?

Looking to where her pegasus had been whinnying shrilly, Vanessa could see only a mass of pale flesh through the forest brush… that alone frightened her. It couldn't have been Forde; though he loved to recline in the shade, she knew that his armor exposed no flesh besides his face… and she could definitely tell that whatever was there was not dead. She could see the form, breathing weakly as time passed… and she could hear the subdued moans of whatever it was that lay beneath the foliage.

"N-no… don't touch me…" Vanessa's eyes widened in horrible realization as she immediately recognized whom the hoarse but otherwise unchanged voice belonged to… and her heart immediately turned cold with dread. If it was who she thought it was, then Titania had been right to have recognized the form… but the pegasus's frightened reaction also meant that whoever it had been had been seriously changed… or hurt.

Quickly moving the foliage aside, paying no mind to the briars that bit into her flesh, the Frelian pegasus knight resisted the urge to turn away… but did not resist her inclination to scream in utmost alarm and fear.

For the one that lay on the forest floor was none other than the vulnerable and curled up form of Princess Eirika… but she was in far worse condition than she had ever thought possible. Her lower lip appeared to have been cut or bitten, and still continued to ooze out the scarlet liquid of life, as did the two puncture wounds on her neck. Two of the girl's ribs (at least) appeared to be broken, with the horrid bruising that accompanied the broken rib matching the partially sunken piece that caused a dip in her flesh. Her eyes were tightly shut, and she continuously shuddered, as if in constant fear… even though she was unconscious. Her thighs were bruised more than any part of her body, and Vanessa soon saw the horrible signs of abuse, written on the princess's body… and knew that she had been disgraced, unfit for a politically beneficial marriage.

Dried blood caked the insides of her thighs, marked the small of her neck and could be seen marking the front of her skull… and Vanessa knew she could only see the front half of the royal girl's body. Knowing she had no time to waste, she quickly took the saddle blanket from her pegasus before gathering up the princess's weak and battered form in her arms, covering her to save her last shred of dignity before placing her on Titania's back. Knowing that too much vibration would probably hurt her, she knew she would have to get her into the sky as quickly but as smoothly as possible. Urging her pegasus into a swift gallop (for galloping was smoother than trotting, which could hurt the girl), Vanessa quickly took the skies, flying towards the tower that she knew the lords were inhabiting. Knowing that such an entry was against the law but not caring, she swiftly ordered her pegasus to fly straight towards the window…

Smashing through freshly installed stained glass, the female knight heard her prince loudly swear at her before falling dreadfully silent at the sight of the covered princess… immediately after she landed, she pulled the princess's body from Titania's saddle before placing her on the small sofa that Hector had until just now used for a seat. They could all see the blood and bruises on her face, but Vanessa had made sure to cover up the rest of her body… she would never had wanted anyone to see her if she had ever been abused, and was fairly sure that the princess felt the same way. However, without a word, Ephraim pulled back the cover to see the condition of the rest of her body…

…and, for the first time in his life, he allowed himself to openly weep bitterly upon seeing the condition of his beloved sister, cradling her in his arms with a sense of gentleness that could not be touched by even Lucius's caring hands. Tears streaked down his normally strong face, blazing crystalline trails down the contours of his flesh as he looked upon her sad state of affairs… he tried to avoid the numerous bruises that marred her skin, but to no avail; there was no avoiding the vast multitude of the dark marks that pained her. Taking a small handkerchief from his pocket, he dipped it in the cup of water he had been drinking from, and began the task of wiping the dried blood from her face. Upon spotting the two marks upon her neck, he paused before pulling his eyes away… only he and one other could truly understand the significance of such a piercing.

Closing his eyes shut as tightly as possible, he couldn't even hear as his fellow lords called for help… all that was currently within his world was a sense of emptiness and despair as the walls that normally held his mind together began to collapse.

_Oh, Eirika… I, the fool who was your brother, couldn't even protect you from him…_


End file.
